Crossroads
by FieryPen37
Summary: The final series featuring Lucian and Sonja. The star-crossed lovers face the threat of vengeful vampires, bloodthirsty werewolves, and death simply for yearning for love and freedom.
1. Crossroads

**Crossroads**

_A/N: I don't own Underworld or any of its wonderful characters. _

_Ok, so this is the shortened version of the Rise of the Lycans movie. I trust my readers are familiar with the source material, so I did not delve into every scene of the movie. This is a broad overview, focusing on scenes critical to the emotion and plot. You can fill in the blanks I skipped. Also, there will several different paths to choose from at the end of this story, just for fun._

_Enjoy!_

_(Below are lyrics from a Decyfer Down song "Burn Back the Sun." Very good.)_

_**Burn back the sun**_

_**Bring back the fire ones**_

_**Blazing inside this hollow cage**_

_**Burn back the sun**_

_**You were the only one to love me **_

_**With passion's quiet rage**_

Luka watched her mistress primp in front of the mirror with a mixture of disapproval and fear. Even as a dewy-eyed girl of sixteen, the potentially deadly consequences of Lady Sonja's forbidden love affair with Lucian had not been lost on her. But then, the sheer romance of it made her juvenile heart swoon. Now as a woman of six and twenty, Luka saw how the danger had intensified. Lady Sonja's pride was as brilliant and hard-edged as a diamond, and she chafed against the strictures Lord Viktor imposed. It was out of sheer pique that she now ran to her lover's arms instead of the council chamber where her father waited.

"The dress, Luka. The silver one. It's his favorite," Lady Sonja tossed the words over her shoulder, nearly giggling.

Luka rose, walking on wooden legs to Lady Sonja's wardrobe and removing the gauzy silver dress she asked for. If only her mistress wasn't so incandescently happy. Then maybe she would listen to sense! Luka's lips pursed in a frown. Lord Lucian should know better! Luka expected such flagrant disregard for authority from Lady Sonja, but Lord Lucian should know better than to risk Lord Viktor's wrath! Both of them were so blithely ignorant of just how far Lord Viktor would go to stop it.

Lady Sonja shimmied into the clinging silver dress and pulled the necklace her father had given her out to rest brazenly between her breasts. The faint smile faded and her eyes flashed that deadly blue upon noting Luka's expression.

"Enough, Luka! I don't need your judgment, your sullen glances. My father calls me to heel, as if I were a dog! I go to be with my husband. Find something to occupy yourself." With a cold whisper of air, Lady Sonja was gone.

His heat pulsed like a beating heart, surrounding her in its searing life. Sonja braced her hands on the rough stone, struggling against the pleasure to stay on her feet as Lucian thrust into her from behind. She arched her back, hungering for more contact. Her body knew and welcomed his intrusion, squeezing his length with jealous spasms. Her husband's arms wrapped around her, touching her breasts, her belly, enveloping her own cool touch with his blazing heat. Warm lips and the faint prickling tickle of his beard touched her ear, his low voice whispering husky endearments. He saturated her senses, body wild under the persuasion of his touch, nostrils breathing in his spicy-sweet, masculine scent, eyes and ears rapt with the sight and sound of him. They made love in potent silence, locked in wordless yielding.

Lucian's strong, callused hands moved to her hips, holding her still and he rammed into her. Climax loomed for the both of them, she could feel it. Undulating waves of sensation broke over her, pleasure exploded behind her eyes with all the colors of a sunrise. With an inarticulate sound of surrender, of wanton, fleshly pleasure that she loved so much, Lucian came inside her in hot spurts. Sonja sighed, flushed and glowing inside and out. He kissed her hair, the column of her neck, her cheek, sweetly nuzzling. He removed himself from her and she tightened her thighs, feeling the hot trickle of his seed. Sonja turned and linked her arms around his neck.

"I love you," she whispered, cupping his cheek. Even her fingers delighted in the textures of him, tingling at the stiff-soft strands of his beard. Lucian smiled that sweet little smile that he only gave to her. Lucian turned his head and kissed the palm of her hand.

"And I love you, Sonja." How empty her life would have been without him!

Sonja rested her cheek against his chest and listened to the music of his heartbeat and breathing, completely contented. Lucian unlocked some hidden door within herself and with him she felt whole and beautiful and loved. It made closing that door that much harder when she rejoined her own kind and saw the sophisticated savagery, heard the poisoned flattery. She felt the change in his embrace, the thrilling masculine stirring of his body. And they began the oldest of dances anew.

Something was troubling his wife, Lucian thought. It was a small part of his mind, one that could barely focus, not with her hands and mouth and body rousing him to such mad passion. Long white fingers danced down his chest with a hint of nail and his skin twitched and shivered in joy. Lucian's hand tangled in the soft hair at her nape and pulled her head down for a kiss.

Lucian was well-attuned to the slightest change in her mercurial moods. Desperation tinged her caresses, defiance lurked in her kisses. Did she feel as he felt, that their time was running out? The uneasy balance that had existed for the past ten years, years spent in hiding, in waiting, studded in moments of unparalleled passion, threatened to come crashing down.

At the fulcrum of this balance was Sonja. The chains of her obligations were pulling her opposite directions: on one side was Viktor and with him the heavy links of duty and kinship, Lucian stood on the other, with only love to tether her to him. The burning thread that linked them thickened into a cord, a rope, a chain as the years passed and as he fell deeply, hopelessly in love with her. By the moon, if he was a better man, he would release her from any obligation—free her. Lucian's arms tightened around her torso, burying his face in the cradle of her neck and shoulder as she rode him. But he was not a better man. He was selfish enough to cling to her and possessive enough to demand the same.

Lucian sat with his legs curled beneath him and Sonja straddling his lap, their bodies joined. Her mouth devoured his, hands sliding over his chest and back. Lucian groaned as tight inner muscles clenched; her body a live wire as her climax ravaged through her. A sultry smile touched her lips, one that made his throbbing cock ache along with his heart. It had taken them many years to learn to fully trust one another, to play. Pliable as he only was with her, Lucian let her push him back, arms spread in empty air. Haloed in moonlight above him, she looked like an angel. Sheathed inside her warmth, Lucian let himself go, lost within the depths of her blue eyes.

Tannis felt Viktor's anger gather, a palpable chilling of air upon seeing his daughter's empty council seat. A stab of envy struck him, feeding the fire of resentment that smoldered in his belly. Only Viktor's headstrong daughter, born into privilege, would so easily toss aside what he coveted. Coloman's mocking words rang in the air.

"She seems to have been needed elsewhere," he drawled, a mocking smile curved thin lips. His unspoken sally rang in the air, a dubious allusion to Lady Sonja's many other absences and pithy excuses.

"Find her," Viktor ordered in a fierce undertone.

The envy blossomed into umbrage. The daughter of privilege, and he, fighting fist and fang for the crumbs of Viktor's table! He bowed to the council and exited, his flowing robes flaring as he walked. A human servant made the mistake of crossing his path and Tannis shoved him with a negligent push. His head struck the stone wall with a wet crunch.

Like a pathetic errand boy, Tannis wandered hither and yon in search of Lady Sonja. Her horse was still happily chewing hay in the stables, so she had not ventured another foray into wolf-infested forest. Tannis enjoyed a macabre fantasy of her caught between two snarling werewolves, her screams for help shattering the spring night . . .

"My lady?" he called, rapping on the door to her chamber. He found it ajar. The heavy teak door opened with an ominous creak at the light touch of his hand. Usually Lady Sonja's little human maid was bustling about tidying the room. But the opulent chamber was empty. A small frown touched the narrow features. Tannis ran his tongue over the shapes of his fangs.

Where could the little princess be hiding?

Tannis considered returning to the council chamber, but quickly dismissed the idea. It was the height of folly to return to Viktor without results.

A fruitless hour passed.

Then another.

Frustration strangled him. Tannis stalked about the deserted courtyard aimlessly. Let her rot wherever she hid! He thought savagely.

Tannis ducked behind a stack of barrels at a stealthy movement. The last thing he needed was the scorn of one of the Death Dealers. The tension relaxed upon seeing Lucian emerge from his forge. He could almost call what stirred in him to be respect, if such a thing was possible between a vampire and Lycan. Tannis' part in the making of Sonja's sword had not gone unnoticed. Now, every experienced Death Dealer's blade was thus outfitted with his silver discs. Tannis gained favor with his ingenuity, just as Lucian had gained favor for the blade. From what he observed, Lady Sonja never rode without it.

Lucian flicked his fingers, as if summoning someone. Tannis' brow lifted. A tryst if he had ever seen one. He hadn't known the Lycan's proclivities veered toward the same sex. After the escapes attempts and dangerous potential for more pups than the Death Dealers could handle, Viktor had put to the sword all the female Lycans. Thirst flared in Tannis' throat at the memory of all that rich red blood staining the flagstones and the death wrought on any who protested.

Now it seemed Lucian had found a lover among his own kind.

The sinuous form stepped into the faint moonlight and Tannis' eyes widened in disbelief.

_Lady Sonja._

Some part of his brain would have found some innocent reason to excuse this atrocity, but as she stepped past him, Lucian snatched at her fingers in one last caress. Their eyes met for a significant moment, pregnant with all the emotions that thickened the air between them. Then Lady Sonja was gliding off on silent feet. The slit along the side of her silver dress parted to show a length of creamy thigh, dispelling any doubt as to the sexual nature of her and Lucian's union.

Tannis stepped back into the shadows to contemplate the treasure just gifted to him by the benevolent Universe. This information was the key to all of his ambitions. All he had to do was wait for the opportune moment. With this rumor, he could even force Viktor to step down and become Elder of the Coven himself.

Yes, everything would be different now.

"It's sharp, no wolf will stand before it," Lucian said tonelessly, eyes meekly downcast. Sonja accepted the sword he had forged for her and slid it home. No matter how delicate and dangerous the game they played, Sonja always relished these stolen moments. She turned to Cai who had followed her with all the simpering adoration of a puppy for the past ten years.

"Ready the horses," she demanded in the ringing, haughty tones of Viktor's daughter. She turned back to find Lucian intimately close, she could smell his sweat and skin. Concern blazed in his blue eyes.

"Let someone else go," he urged. Sonja frowned.

"Why?" His eyes shifted behind her. She sensed Cai's presence and met his eye, nodding crisply. When they were alone again, Lucian continued.

"Last night, after I left you . . ." he trailed off, grimacing. His hand lifted to touch her face, but he remembered where they were and it dropped to his side.

"Just let someone else go."

His concern touched the proud, prickly part of her nature and she stiffened, shrugging it off. A small voice in her head wondered at the hypocrisy. She demanded that he not use the key he made, out of concern for his safety. And now, with an almost identical request, she was miffed by his worry.

A smirk curled her full lips.

"In case you haven't noticed, blacksmith, I am quite capable of looking after myself." She paused at the door for one last look at him, softening the blow of her words.

"Besides, you can watch over me from the wall."

Through the terror coursing in his veins, the sheer wild strength of a cornered man who had nothing to lose, Raze dimly realized he was going to live. The snarling wolf-beasts that populated the terrain of his childhood nightmares now rose to vivid, stinking life. Their flesh was hot and heavy beneath his striking fists, their breath rank and moist as dagger-like fangs snapped at him. The others, the things that looked human but moved too fast with white fangs glinting in the moonlight, were fighting like demons to drive the wolf-beasts back. One, the woman, looked like some fearsome pagan goddess.

Raze looked toward the trees and whatever fragile hope he had shriveled and died. There were too many. Raze heard hoofbeats and he looked up to find a lone man galloping from the forest. One man? He would be slaughtered with the rest of them! Raze lost himself in the rage and the fear as he swung the chains that imprisoned him, improvising a crude flail to keep the wolf-beasts at bay. A black form tore the slave behind him to pieces. Raze could feel the blood splatter on his naked limbs.

"_Lucian, no!"_ cried a female voice. Raze turned to find the warrior-woman sprawled on the ground, looking up at the man. A small metal object fell to the ground, but Raze did not have time to wonder what it was. Raze watched with a mixture of disgust and awe as the man's skin ruptured, sinuous muscle bulging and snaking to cover lengthening bones. Black fur and white fangs burst into existence as if by magic. His roar rang defiantly in the air, stopping every wolf-beast in their tracks. Before Raze's wondering eyes, they retreated. Hope surged through him.

He would live.

Tannis now saw the world through new eyes. Every word and glance held a different meaning and he relished being privy to the secret. Hazel eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Lucian in his Lycan form. What a naughty little pet he was! How had he removed his collar? Now he had more to worry about than a wayward glance, as Tannis had warned him when Lady Sonja had ridden out.

A Death Dealer from Viktor's approaching party fired two crossbow bolts into Lucian's back. The monstrous form buckled with a yelp and Sonja couldn't stem the most visceral of reactions upon seeing her lover in pain.

"No! Stop!" she commanded, hurrying to his side.

Two sharp yanks removed the bolts embedded in his flesh. She straightened as her father approached, a mirror to him in his severe posture and vivid blue gaze. The devotion that existed between Lucian and Lady Sonja, so stark and naked under Tannis' knowing eye touched some place in his chest, near the heart that no longer beat.

"He did it to save me," Lady Sonja explained hotly. But Viktor had eyes only for Lucian. The vampire lord delivered a vicious backhand across his recalcitrant pet's face. Tannis watched Sonja's face. She had regained a measure of her poise, her flinch as the blow fell would only be perceptible under a scrutinizing eye—like Tannis'.

When Viktor dismissed her, Tannis stepped forward and laid a hand on her arm. Murder was written in her features, brilliant anger shimmered on her skin. But she followed him without demur. He waited for her to look back at her lover, lying supine, naked and bleeding for saving her life.

She did not.

"For removing the collar, thirty lashes!" shouted Dorian. The glinting silver tips of his whip rattled on the flagstones. Tannis lifted a brow as the vampire foreman whispered something in Lucian's ear. He saw Dorian's leering grin and recognized the gleeful expression of an enemy getting retribution.

Coloman and Viktor squabbled over the terms of the punishment, the former reeking of fear with the hordes of Lycans looking on, and the latter a towering mountain of fury. Tannis knew Lucian was lucky to be alive.

The whip rose with a trilling whistle, then came down across the exposed Lycan's form with a ringing hiss. He cried out and Tannis eyes flashed blue at the scent of suffering and red blood.

The whip rose and fell again and again. Tannis could actually _hear_ Lucian's flesh ripping beneath the onslaught of leather and metal and sheer brutal force. A few strokes in, the Lycan's cries grew markedly quieter. Tannis frowned, then noticed how the Lycan's gaze was fixed unwaveringly on something. He turned and found Lady Sonja's window, with a shadow outlined in the green glass.

Ah, their love transcended even the petty concerns of the flesh! Lucian quieted his screams of agony to save her pain, and Lady Sonja in turn provided silent succor. She was with him in his torture, feeling every lash as if it were her own. Tannis imagined her strong features stained with tears, full mouth a grim line of determination as she listened to the whip, the tearing flesh, Lucian's pained cries. A smile curled Tannis' lips, absurdly touched by this hidden display. The entire gamut of it: Sonja's betrayal, Lucian's inconceivable love, Viktor's blind ignorance, all of it titillated and delighted him.

Yes, it would make a fine story, especially when it reached its inevitable, deadly conclusion.

All of Xristo's hate coalesced in one shining nub in the center of his chest. He and his Lycan brothers were forced by armed Death Dealers to watch Lucian's meteoric fall from grace. Scourged for saving Viktor's little princess! Beaten within an inch of his life for a good deed! How the vampires could miss the most obvious reason filled him with bemused scorn. Why else would he risk his own life, and spend his chance at freedom to save her? Any other Lycan would have watched with glee as the werewolves destroyed

_Lady_ Sonja, Viktor's daughter.

But she had bewitched him.

Lucian, the best and strongest of the Lycans, brought to his knees for loving a vampire. The irony of it twisted in his gut.

Xristo stepped forward, intent on ripping off Dorian's head—the same vampire that had been so intent on beating him. Lucian had saved him and earned the vampire's hate. Xristo forgot his envy of Lucian. Being Viktor's favorite had not saved him here. The butt of a crossbow came down on the back of his head and he fell to his knees. Sabaas knelt beside him.

"Courage, brother," he whispered. Xristo looked up at Sabaas and saw all his hate and anger reflected. They rose together, united in their silent, unwavering support of their leader.

Viktor strode across the hall to where his daughter stood, sipping blood and contemplating the roaring fire in the grate. His emotions twisted and struggled together inside him: at Lucian's betrayal, Sonja's audacity, and Janosh's imminent arrival. The only evidence of this conflict was the slight fluttering of his jaw, the icy force of his gaze.

So much depended on the outcome of this exchange.

Viktor's suspicions burgeoned and swelled, bolstered by her behavior in the clearing. But she had not protested his punishment, fueling the fragile flame of hope. The bloodied mess that remained of Lucian's back filled him with a gratified rush of pleasure. Justice was done this night, and mercy. The pup should be grateful he still lived!

With quiet grace, Viktor stalked behind Sonja, willing her to turn, look at him, _confess_. Her back remained resolutely turned, heartbreakingly striking and proud in her bearing.

"Your concern for Lucian was most touching. A slave," he snapped, unleashing the brunt of his seething anger. She remained unmoved by it, as only she could be.

Alkaline to his acid.

Sonja sipped deliberately and Viktor watched the muscles of her throat flex as she swallowed. A swift bite at her delicate throat and all her secrets would be laid bare. No, he told himself, that would be a last resort. Viktor knew he could not bear her look of betrayal if his suspicions proved false. The scent of warm blood wafted on her breath as she spoke.

"He had just saved my life. Was it not you who told me to show a little gratitude?" she drawled, as if explaining a simple fact to a dull child. Viktor's teeth grated together.

"And yourself? Have you no gratitude for the one who saved your daughter's life?"

"I am awash with it," he shot back, venom injected in the words, "that he lives shows the breadth of my magnanimity. Were it any other circumstance, I would have had him _fed_ in _pieces_ to his own kind."

The vampire Elder watched his daughter's face carefully, searching for one iota of discomfort. There was none. Instead of relieving his fears, this merely thickened the miasma of doubt and suspicion. Sonja was his daughter. Her thoughts were not constrained to the muscles of her face, he thought with no small amount of pride. The firelight washed her face in warmth, like the living glow given by the sun's kiss. Viktor now saw her as she would have been, had she been born human. Sonja turned slightly toward him and he was absurdly reassured by her white skin, the pallor of a vampire that matched his own. She was still his, the child of his body and heart. Her steady hazel gaze slithered away, returning to the hypnotic dance of golden flames.

"But his punishment is now over. He will be freed," she said carefully. A harsh fist curled around Viktor's innards, erasing the tenuous feeling of security.

_No!_

"Freed? Your judgment is clouded, Sonja." He turned fully toward her, challenging. She was unaffected, sipping with unceremonious deliberation. Violence built within him. He wanted to dash the jeweled chalice from her hand and shake her until she saw reason—_his_ reason. Instead his voice lashed out with the same brutal precision of Dorian's whip.

"We do not keep order with sentiment, Lucian was forbidden to remove his collar, and yet he did so. For however fine a reason. He will remain in prison. A cautionary tale." He paused, waiting for a rebuttal, a reaction to the veiled suspicion of his words.

Quiet, stolid defiance greeted him, the strong features set in polite indifference, as if he was remarking on the weather or the contents of an armory. Viktor's habitual frown deepened. His reckless, precocious, fierce daughter would challenge, fight and infuriate him. It was uncharacteristic for her to remain to so silent under the full weight of his judgment. A deft maneuver, he thought. In the heat of emotion, mistakes were made, slips in logic or defense. She stymied him in her silence.

"Janosh and the other nobles will soon arrive. Your presence is expected."

Cool logic did little to still her fears or quiet the ravaging anger and guilt that lashed within her with all the violence of an inferno. Sonja's eyes slipped closed for a brief moment, remembering with the surreal clarity of life's most awful moments the exact sound of the whip coming down on Lucian's back, his half-stifled cries. All she could see was her father's stern visage, narrow and sharp like a great bird of prey, circling, waiting for the last dying heave of breath. She maintained her poise by the thinnest of margins, only long enough to slip away, to melt into the shadows and turn her steps toward the prison.

Raze leaned his bald head back against the cold stone, content to doze for a few moments. The rough rock was cold and its chill seeped through his skin and clothing to freeze his muscles. Skimming the surface of dreams, he could forget the thick walls, the bars, the monsters that now peopled the world. Dimly he heard the soft burr of Lucian's voice as he spoke to one of his brothers and the tight ball of fear that pressed insistently against his breastbone relaxed and dissolved. He spoke with such calm authority, a steady and quiet charisma.

A puzzle, that man.

A Lycan, as he called himself, a human, but also . . . one of them. Raze shied away from the image of those cursed creatures, men bitten and turned to snarling beasts of untold savagery. Yet Raze respected and liked Lucian. He was a kindred spirit, a brother of the soul as his people called them.

Lucian's voice cut off mid-sentence and Raze opened his eyes. Lucian clamored to his feet, the pale expanse of his back marred by fading marks. Another fascinating glimpse of his strange race—had any other man taken a beating like Lucian had, he would be dead. But Lucian was well on the way to healing in a matter of hours.

A shadow slithered across the floor, a cold whisper that teased the back of his neck. Even after thousands of years as rulers of this world, humans still remembered instinctually what it was like to be prey.

"_Lucian!"_ hissed a female voice, hushed into whispering tones. The last time he had heard it, she was calling out a warning in a voice tight with desperation and fear. In the light of a flickering torch, Raze glimpsed her in profile and was smote, both by her beauty, and by the expression of loving joy in her eyes, the kind of frantic passion the plucked at the heart and burned in the belly.

"Sonja," Lucian summoned her.

The lovers met at the bars. Raze watched in fascination as Lucian's calm, forbidding mien transformed into a look of such love and tenderness that Raze's great heart pined for the wife he had lost a day long since on a windswept plain. Lucian reached through the grate to grasp her hand.

"You should not be here," he chided, the joy in his smile and the strength of his grip belying the stern words.

"I had to! My love, I'm sorry. Your back-" a Lycan from an adjoining cell provided a blanket and Lucian shrugged it across his shoulders.

"No, I'll be all right."

"This is my fault. If I had not gone out-" Raze was surprised when Lucian cut off this tide of self-recrimination—completely justified in his mind.

"Then you would not be who you are." Lucian's grimy hand touched the pale perfection of her cheek, "This is not your fault."

Of all things, Raze felt jealousy stir inside him. True, from what Lucian had told him of the politics of this world, the careless brutality the vampires affected, and the seething anger on behalf of the beautiful woman's father, he knew their love was doomed to fail. Fated to end in death. But the tragedy of their love was overshadowed by the truth of it, the depth of their connection and their desperate courage. While Lucian's Lycan brothers turned their backs on her in disgust, Raze found sympathy and kinship with her—the vampire whose name Lucian said with such reverence.

_Sonja._

Her thoughts jumbled, bouncing and slamming together like bees in a bottle. She cast a glance at Tannis, who stood at her father's left hand.

_He knew. _

Her acquaintance with Tannis told her that he would have killed his own mother for more power. Why now did he hold his tongue? Certainly not for her sake. Whenever possible they traded looks of scorn and venom laced polite platitudes. No, not for her sake. And whatever tenuous respect he held for Lucian would not bear a secret as monumental as theirs.

_Why then, for stars' sake, had he told her father? _

She survived council, watching with uncaring eyes as her father killed Janosh. The impertinent fool, he was greedier than his father Hermun before him, and resented their tithe of silver. Sonja's jaw clenched. They had paid that tithe in blood trying to protect Janosh's lands as well as their own. Her Death Dealers were spread very thin. Sonja stopped herself with a grim smile. But then again, they were not _her_ Death Dealers, were they? As the years passed, her position as First became a title only. Their loyalty was first and foremost to Viktor.

His methods in dealing with these humans were a bit crude, she noted clinically. A testament to the state of his temper. She would have to tread very carefully. The other nobles were sufficiently cowed and gave their tribute without demur, Janosh's lifeless body lying in a pool of blood. The rich scent of a vampire's natural prey roused her thirst, even though she had slaked it with pig's blood upon her return from the forest. Words of fealty ran together and the hours of the night slipped away.

As the nobles—both human and vampire—filed out of the chamber, two Death Dealers dragging away Janosh's body, her father blocked her path. Her eyes traveled up from the tailored black boots, following the robes and coat, both of the finest fabrics, stiff with embroidery. Her father had excellent taste in fine things. For all of his shrewd severity, he luxuriated in the finery that he was afforded as the vampires' warlord. His hair, blond in the youth centuries gone, was combed back, startling blue eyes heavy on her.

The child in her was torn by warring desires. Part of her wanted to glare defiantly up at him and an equally large part wanted to embrace him and feel _loved_. But she had only ever had her father's love when she obeyed his desires and plans for her life. Lucian was the only one who ever loved her for herself.

_Oh my love!_ She thought, and then forcefully pushed him from her thoughts. She needed her wits about her when sparring with her father.

"Morning is upon us, my child. It's time we left this wretched night behind."

"Gladly," she replied. He clasped his hands behind his back, affecting a posture of nonchalance. She mirrored him, folding her hands demurely in front of her.

"There are some difficult decisions ahead; I would like your help with one of them, my dear." Inwardly, her instincts pealed madly in warning. By the Elders, had Tannis told? If that was the case, her next words could seal her fate.

"Of course, Father." The tip of her tongue darted out to moisten suddenly parched lips. Were she human, her heart would have raced, her breath would have shortened. As a vampire, she would not be so easily betrayed by her body.

"With Lucian gone, we must promote another Lycan in his place." At this her facade cracked, the slight tolerant smile vanishing, her eyes widening slightly. Sonja grasped at her control. Her father's eyes saw everything. Fear shivered through her. In that fear, she spoke without thinking.

"Gone?" she repeated, as the word resounded through the temple of her heart. _Gone? _Had they killed him already? No, linked as they were by love, blood and vow, she would know if he was dead. If not now, then very soon. At this her father leaned close, as if imparting a secret.

"Coloman thinks he will stir the others. We must remove him." the strange lilt in emphasis on 'remove' alerted Sonja to her father's relish at the prospect. Stunned speechless, she lowered her gaze, fearing that her face would betray her.

"That will be difficult," she said. No one in a thousand centuries could replace him! Her father's eyebrows lifted, a soft burr in his throat encouraging her to elucidate. She turned toward a brace of candles, clawing for the right words, for the icy clarity of mind she possessed as a Death Dealer.

What had love done to her? Now she was on the brink of confessing all, of abjectly begging for reprieve to lift this dreadful sentence from her beloved's head.

"He has been with us so long," she explained, trailing off into silence.

Sonja stiffened, locking Lucian into a secret corner of her being. She must be cold and calm, like the tranquil summit of a mountain, unmoved by the wind's screams or the sun's gentle persuasion. She turned quickly, as if struck by a sudden thought.

"Perhaps Gyorg. Or Thrassos. They will be . . . trustworthy."

"Excellent suggestions. I will consider them strongly," he commended, the barest light of approval winking in his fierce blue gaze. With that, he left her in the empty hall.

Sonja pushed open the door, expecting to find Luka. Her suite was empty. Sonja's already foul mood dipped still lower. Her maid's quiet comfort had soothed her during Lucian's scourging. Closing the door, Sonja glided to her vanity, lighting scented beeswax tapers. Candlelight shone through their glass housings, washing the vanity table in orbs of red and blue and purple. Sonja sank down in her vanity chair, contemplating the face that stared back at her, frozen unchanging in a pose of un-withering beauty. But she could see the ravages of fear and fatigue in her ageless features, in plain sight for only the moment. Soon she must wear her masks again.

The past months had seen Sonja tired and irritable, conditions she discounted to long, busy nights balancing the opposing spheres of Death Dealer, council member, wife and daughter. Her life had polarized. At one end of the spectrum stood Father with his expectations and his suspicions, the love he withheld and the rest of her kind. At the other stood Lucian, lover, husband, friend, and all the danger, struggle and death that awaited them.

A tiny pulse rippled through her belly, alien and instantly familiar in the same moment.

Sonja shot to her feet, a wild hand scattering the array of cosmetics on her vanity. She swayed on her feet, every muscle and sinew tensed. Raw terror seized her un-beating heart, clawing at her insides like a werewolf trying the break free from a cage. Confusion fogged her mind and she slid down onto her knees on the fur carpet, her necklace swinging. Nausea buckled through her, not of sickness, but of sheer, wild fear.

"It's not possible," she whispered, the words weak and hollow to her own ears. A violently shaking hand rested on her belly. Another lazy nudge, this one of acknowledgment, she thought. Sonja gasped, pressing more firmly to feel the tiny throb of a heartbeat. Its presence confirmed its parenthood, but left unexplained the mystery of its existence.

"By the Elders," she said. There were no words to express the depth of her shock, the utter bewildering gravity of what rested beneath her hand.

_A child. _

A _hybrid_ child. Half vampire, half Lycan.

The terror of it was subsiding into acceptance. The stakes of an already dangerous game had multiplied a hundredfold. Now _three_ lives rested in the balance: hers, Lucian's, and now . . . their child's—their innocent child's. Sonja's fingers curled protectively over her belly. Acceptance mellowed into tenderness. Never before had she allowed herself to even think about the possibility of pregnancy. It was possible among her kind to bear children, though few did. And as to Lucian's virility . . . in over a decade of loving him, she had never considered . . .

But Sonja felt a definite sense of Someone within her, part of her body, but also its own. It was hers and Lucian's, this tiny life.

She couldn't tell him. Not when Father had him locked in prison. He needed to think of his brothers, his freedom, not worry over her. He would stay, her beloved, he would stay to protect them however he could. For now, this was her secret. Tears wet her lashes. Of fear and joy mixed.

"Hello there, little one," she whispered.

Marcus' personal chronicler was a lazy fool. Tannis poured over the history of Marcus' last reign and found countless discrepancies in hectares of land, tallies of gold, even spelling mistakes. He was so absorbed in his work and the steady stream of abuse on his predecessor that he didn't hear her coming.

A strong white hand gripped the back of his collar and shoved him against the wall, causing an avalanche of scrolls. The sharp, wicked cold prickle of a naked blade against his throat prevented him from fighting back. Beautiful as she was, Tannis often forgot just how deadly Sonja was, as dangerous and volatile as her father, if not more so. For she had something she couldn't bear losing, and it made her desperate. Desperation was a wild and potent tool. Tannis spread his hand in a placating posture, not even breathing for fear of the bitter bite of her blade.

"What have you told my father?" she demanded crisply.

His head spun. How had she-? Ah! _Lucian_! Of course she would visit her lover, tend his wounds. The fools in the prison complex couldn't catch a clue, much less the First of the Death Dealers when she did not want to be seen. Tannis cursed himself, regretting that snide slip of tongue when Sonja had ridden out and Lucian's eyes had clung to her with such sweet, fervent worry.

The blade dug in suggestively, denting the skin and bringing Tannis violently back to the present. Sonja's hazel eyes blazed, her hands firm, her hold implacable. If he did not answer correctly, she would slit his throat without qualm.

"Nothing," he gasped at last, hissing as the blade broke his skin and red blood trickled from the small wound.

"Why?" she snapped.

"Why what?" he wheezed.

"Why have you told him nothing?" she said calmly, spacing the words as if explaining something to a dull child. Tannis grunted, eyes slit-like on her.

"Would your father welcome the man who brought him news that his beloved daughter was consorting . . . with a Lycan?" he drawled. Tannis glanced eloquently down at the blade. The plump fullness of her lips firmed into a grim line, a dimple carved into her cheek. She yanked back the knife and Tannis expelled a breath in relief, touching the wound resentfully.

"He isn't well known for his gratitude." _Neither are you,_ he thought to himself. She exhaled a sigh through her nostrils. He wheeled out of the corner, looking down his long nose at her.

"And I am not yet in a position to use this," he paused significantly so she could appreciate the scope of 'this'—her lover in prison, her loss of her father's favor, and him, Andreas Tannis, balancing the scale.

"For my benefit," he finished. Her hazel eyes narrowed.

"What sort of benefit?" she said coolly.

Tannis smiled smugly, reveling in this reversal of power. He had Viktor's daughter at his mercy. He took a moment to bask in it, but was instantly aware of Sonja prowling a tight circle around him, eyes gelid blue, like a wolf debating on weather a deer was worth pursuing.

"There are twelve council seats."

"And we don't die often," Sonja remarked dryly.

"Sadly no," he replied. Sonja paused, tapping the haft of her knife against her chin.

"So what if I gave up my seat at council? Simply left it to you?" Tannis frowned. What sort of fool would simply give up such a gambit for power?

"Why would you do that?" the slightest of smiles curled the corner of her mouth.

"Can you keep a secret?"

The words were music to his ears. Deftly, with this one significant fact, all his dreams could be accomplished, without any effort or bloodshed. His smile turned predatory and he began to step toward her, only to be stopped by the thrust of her knifepoint against his chest. Very persuasive, were Viktor and his blood.

"I will need something in return."

The bargain was struck and barely a handful of grains had sifted through the hourglass on his desk before he led Sonja down to the prison, armed with keys—both the key to the lock and the key Lucian had crafted for his moon-shackle. Tannis was grateful when her sharp-eyed, brooding presence hid around a corner. He approached one of the Death Dealers, called Orestes. Not very bright, if Tannis recalled correctly.

"Release the pet. Viktor wants him," Tannis commanded. Orestes' silver armor shone in the torchlight and Tannis glimpsed the shifting of eye from between the narrow faceplates.

"I am under orders to keep him here, my lord."

"Fool!" Tannis hissed, affecting an air of impatient anger, "are you deaf? I said _Viktor_ wants him. Interrogation, you understand."

The name finally registered in his thick skull and Orestes dragged Lucian out of his cell and deposited him in the storeroom on the floor above, formerly Lucian's own room before his spectacular fall from favor. Tannis dismissed Orestes and opened the door. Lucian's dark blue eyes flickered over him in an expression of cautious hope and veiled suspicion, the taut muscles of his chest tensed in readiness for battle. Sonja, garbed in heavy cloak and cowl, filed in after Tannis.

"Two minutes. Any longer is too risky."

Tannis waited outside the door, listening to heavy breathing and stifled moans as they shared a passionate kiss. He rolled his eyes, grateful that no creature had ever entangled him so.

"Hurry," he urged them. He tilted an ear, listening to their whispered plans. A clearing by the river, eh? More information that might prove useful. Sonja melted into the shadows and Orestes returned Lucian to his cell. Tannis crouched over the grate above Lucian's cell, measuring the firm strength of his form, the stony resolve in his gaze unmitigated by the shackle around his neck or the stinking, dripping prison he stood in. He could have been a general or a prince from his bearing.

"You know what your problem is?" he whispered. Lucian glared up at him, coolly measuring as Tannis had measured him.

"You don't understand the natural order of things." Tannis recognized his voice was sneering, but didn't care. It was rare thing in history to be an agent of change, but here he was, on the cusp of perhaps the greatest in his race's history.

"Things change," was Lucian's laconic reply.

"Be ready when they do," Tannis shot back, referring both to his impending coup and Lucian's own escape. He dropped the key and Lucian snatched it deftly out of the air. His fingers unfurled gingerly, evidently wary of a contribution from a vampire.

"Consider it a parting gift."

The sun radiated burning waves of pain, but Viktor stood unmoved, eyes locked with Lucian's. Anger and humiliation washed through him, more searing than the sun's dawning rays. How _dare_ he? Beneath the veneer of anger swirled a riotous hurt, a vicious and stinging betrayal.

_I gave you your life, pup, and this is how you repay me?_ he thought. A small voice inside him cried out and died whatever affection and mercy he held for Lucian dying with it.

"My lord," a Death Dealer murmured, a hand hovering over his sleeve. Viktor's skin hissed faintly as the sun rose still higher, ablaze on exposed skin. Any higher and the sun's deadly light would burn him to ash. Lucian stood proud, lovingly kissed by the sun's light in benediction, unwavering, _mocking_. His teeth ground together and he melted back into the cool shadows, vowing revenge. Only a small number had escaped, he consoled himself: Lucian, two dozen other old Lycans, and the big dark one, newly turned.

The puzzle of Lucian's escape was easily solved, but Viktor dearly enjoyed watching Tannis squirm, pawing through the contents of the armory searching for the key. He produced it with such an expression of pleading triumph that some of the anger of Lucian's escape ebbed into amusement. An oversight on Viktor's part, he admitted, allowing a blacksmith of his skill and ingenuity to continue on unsupervised, especially when he had spent such time forging a sword for his daughter.

"He must have made another one. I never doubted you."

There was one he did doubt, and the doubt scored his heart. His feet swept lightly across the floor, scaling the stairs to her chamber. Her human maid leapt to her feet at his appearance, hands white knuckled on her rosary beads. A brief spurt of amusement lightened his mood. A cross did not harm his kind.

"Go," he commanded tersely and the little human fluttered away, leaving the dress she was folding in a wad at her feet. Viktor settled in to wait.

He did not have to wait long.

Sonja glided into her chambers with the same remiss grace of a dancer, which her mother had also possessed. A flower of affection cautiously bloomed, regardless of the poisoned seed, the doubting vine. She was a great beauty, his Sonja. Midnight hair, two slender braids pinned at the back of her head with a twist of gold. Lithe beauty garbed in her favored leather and mail.

Everything hinged on what she said, what she didn't.

Unaware of his presence, she strode to her table and measured out spoonfuls of her favorite jasmine incense into a porcelain burner. Viktor admired the measured deftness of her hands, feminine and competent. The winking taper dipped and set the incense alight. A tendril of smoke snaked through the air and its cloying scent teased his nostrils with the lure of a night-blooming garden. It was then she sensed his presence.

"Father." She breathed. Viktor brows lifted.

"Did I startle you, my dear?" he drawled. The tone of his voice relaxed her; he saw some of the tension ebb from the stiff set of her shoulders. _Trust me, daughter. _He compelled her silently.

"No. No you did not," she said, the corners of her mouth lifting in a smile of greeting. The expression summoned her face, soft in the shapes of childhood, hazel eyes half closed as she beamed up at him, white teeth shining and dimples in her cheeks. Viktor steeled his heart against the images, reminding himself of his responsibilities. He strode toward her balcony window, studying the patterns in the leaded green glass.

"I realize, my dear, that I have been thoughtless." He barely acknowledged her noncommittal sound.

"I was so immersed in my own anguish over Lucian's betrayal that I gave no thought to your feelings." He glanced toward her, measuring her reaction.

"My feelings?" she echoed. He turned and picked up the figurine he had given her, studying the burnished gold idly.

"They worm their way into our hearts, and we forget the travesty of their birth. I myself had tenderness towards Lucian." Viktor paused significantly, abandoning the delicate parry and thrust of convoluted inquiry for a more direct approach.

"Did you help him escape?"

She reacted immediately.

"Help him? Of course not."

There was the slightest touch of anger, betrayed affront that gave him hope. _Let it be so!_ He thought, shying away from what would become of her if she lied. Viktor turned to face her and let her see the violent conflict in his gaze. He could trust her with it.

"Are you lying to me?" a hint of steel entered his voice, in warning. Her hazel eyes softened with her voice.

"There are many things I've done against your will. But he is a _Lycan_."

The final blow fell and Viktor strained against the truth of what he had to do. The words were too rehearsed, too close to what he so ardently wanted to hear. He approached her, gently brushing her hair from throat. He leaned close and dropped a kiss on her forehead. Viktor saw the look of surprised happiness, carefully restrained and smothered in her face and Viktor felt an instant's piercing regret for not showing her the love she so hungered for.

"I am sorry, my dear," he rasped, utterly sincere, "but you leave me no choice." Viktor struck, moving behind her and sinking his fangs into the elegant column of her throat.

Blood-visions were the most potent form of communication. It barred any sort of rationalization, editing, or filter. The taster was immersed in every thought, emotion, word and action, no matter how the tasted struggled. And Viktor, even though he was Elder of the Coven, was hard pressed to resist the wild, screaming force of Sonja's will.

Images washed over him, the great privilege and loneliness of her pampered childhood, fierce pride in her warrior's prowess, her quiet pining for the love he withheld. He saw himself, a veritable titan looming over her, a figure she paradoxically loved, admired, resented, and feared.

Then . . . _him_.

Viktor watched their affair unfold, felt her pleasure as he took her body. His rage built inside him, but he maintained the connection, scourging himself with the reality of his beloved daughter's betrayal. She lied to his face, vowing her loyalty with that _dog's_ scent on her skin and his seed between her thighs. Every missed council session was spent in _his_ arms, crying out in pleasure as he . . .

Viktor could stand no more and tore himself free from her mind. A broken cry issued from his lips, ragged like a wounded beast.

"Father, please-" the lying bitch pleaded.

_How dare she beg for him!_

He vented his rage with a resounding backhanded blow across her face. She fell back across the bed and he braced a knee on her belly, hands tightening around her throat.

"You wanted me to believe your lies. I knew it could not be true, not my own daughter. _How could you?_" her eyes glinted a vampiric blue, face set in a tragically vulnerable expression. She made no move to throw him off, though it was within her power to do so.

"Father . . . I love him," she whispered, her voice very small, very young, echoing the beloved vision of her as a child that he held in his heart.

It was true.

By the stars, it was _true_!

After tasting her blood, he knew that at least was accurate. It saturated her every thought, and was deep and vital to her existence. Not an affair, tied to the appetites of the flesh and an attractive thrill to her reckless nature. Sonja _loved_ that disgusting dog Lucian, no matter how inconvenient, dangerous or terrible the consequences. Viktor's hands squeezed, wild with pain and _fear_. It would be mercy to kill her now, and spare her the council's judgment. Instead he released her with disgust, her blood a faint red smear around his mouth.

"You have _betrayed_ me! To be with _an animal!_" he shouted. Viktor strode toward the door, no longer able to bear it, "I loved you more than anything!"

To a Death Dealer, "She does not leave this room!"

The door slammed shut on Sonja and a similar one slammed in his heart. He would cut her out of that traitorous, lying organ, throw those diseased parts in the fire. She was now a pawn against Lucian, nothing more.

Nothing more.

Janos peered at the form trotting from the gate. Even cowled, he could still glimpse a wayward strand of blond hair.

"It's Lady Sonja's little maid. Should we stop her?"

The Death Dealer he addressed did not even look up, keeping his attention on the game board balanced on his knees and studying his opponent's last move. He waved a negligent hand.

"Nay. What's one little human? Can you blame her for running out on Viktor's little princess? She's probably trysting. Let her go."

Janos shrugged and forgot her the instant he turned his back.

Lucian closed his eyes, breathing deeply of the rich night air, full of complex scents of the forest and all that inhabited it. The air smelled like freedom. Years ago he had worried if he would feel naked without the moon-shackle around his neck. He did, but there was a freedom in that nakedness that he gloried in. Now, his chains were no longer of metal, but of responsibility and love. His brothers were still trapped in Viktor's vengeful clutches, and Lucian knew he would never feel fully free until Sonja was with him.

His venture in the caves had gone well. Though unable to communicate with them on even the crudest level, the pack of werewolves had not killed him, a favorable sign. Lucian shoved aside a branch and strode down the hill to the camp where his ragtag army waited. Sabaas glanced up from the pot he was stirring and dismissed Lucian's arrival with a careless shrug. Lucian hid a smile. Sabaas' calm, laconic demeanor tempered Xristo's fervor and Raze's force. Lucian's eyes scanned the camp, picking out the new arrivals clustered together in groups, tending their weapons or chatting in low tones.

"At this rate we'll have enough men by the end of the week," Sabaas remarked, sneaking a taste of soup. Lucian nodded. Perfect.

His own stomach rumbled and he caught the bread Raze threw to him and took a large bite.

"Any sign of Sonja?" he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice. Three days had passed without a word. Raze looked up from the massive war axe he was sharpening.

"Nothing," he rumbled.

Xristo stood and strode over to him, bouncing with energy.

"With respect Lucian, I don't see the wisdom in waiting for her. She's not one of us." A quick flash of anger flared inside him and his fists balled for his love's sake. Xristo was no better than the vampires, hating her simply for what instead of what she was! He shared a glance with Sabaas and a few others and found it was a common sentiment.

"Have you forgotten? She's the one who set us free," Lucian said with forced calm. Xristo stepped still closer, blue eyes wild with passion.

"She is a _vampire_. If she's deceived you, she could lead them here-" the remaining threads of his temper snapped and his arm thrust out, seizing Xristo by the neck and slamming him against a tree.

"Death Dealers will undoubtedly be on the hunt, and they will, eventually find us. But not by her doing!"

He released Xristo and cast his burning blue gaze around the camp.

"I trust Sonja with my life and as long as I'm in command, so shall you."

With that, he stalked off toward the east, where he could watch for Sonja's arrival. The tie that bound them was intact, and vibrated like a plucked lyre string. He knew in his gut that something was wrong. He hadn't slept in two nights and was dizzy with hunger, but this premonition would not let him sleep or sit still, so he paced back and forth like a tiger in a cage.

"She'll come." Raze's bass voice broke into his anxious thoughts. Tension ebbed from his shoulders and Lucian smiled ruefully. Raze massive form leaned against a tree next to him, his muscled limbs nearly matching it in girth. Sabaas' bite on his neck had healed to a faint scar and Lucian wondered as he often did if they felt any different.

"That bad, eh?" he replied. Raze's thick lips part to reveal animal white teeth as he smiled. A grunt-like chuckle emanated from his chest.

"Yes. Perhaps it is because I know little of your—our—world, but I can see that what is between you is real. I don't see a vampire, I see a woman in love."

Lucian clapped a hand on Raze's broad shoulder.

"Thank you, Raze. You're the only one. The others think I'm mad, or seduced by the wiles of Viktor's daughter." Lucian grunted in reluctant amusement.

"Maybe I am."

Raze flexed his hands, each as large as a shovel blade. When he met Lucian's eye, his brown orbs were bright with amusement.

"Don't you know the thing about a pack of dogs, Lucian? Only the strongest two are allowed to mate." Raze offered a large, callused hand, the black skin on the back sharply contrasted by his pale palm.

"Come, my friend. I'm hungry."

Luka heeled her tired horse into a lurching canter, tears slipping down her cheeks. Lady Sonja—arrested by her own father, on trial that would end in her death! _Oh my lady!_ Luka wept.

She had been ten summers when a vampire came to her home. Only ten summers when he killed—and fed from—her father. Her mother and baby sister had died in childbed, and had left Luka alone with her beloved, crippled father. She remembered the young man, looking no older than seventeen summers, who had been the one to drink from her papa. As his lifeless body fell limp to the floor, the creature had looked at her with those inhuman blue eyes, long fangs wet with blood. The night passed in a state of constant terror as he threw her across the back of his horse and galloped off into the night.

The young man was one of Lord Viktor's vassals and held a small estate at the mountain pass between the castle and the sea, a daylight resting place for a vampire traveler. He needed a servant, and found one in Luka—both for his home and his bed.

He liked pain.

Luka shied away from the memory, once more blessing the saints that she had spent only a month with the man. A day more and her spirit would have broken beyond repair.

Her captor had taken her to the vampire gathering at the castle. Lady Sonja had been in the courtyard, garbed in her armor with a sword at her side in the midst of training. Luka had never seen anything as beautiful and terrifying as she. Luka remembered the enigmatic hazel eyes grazing over her. One black brow, as bold as a stroke of calligraphy ink, lifted haughtily.

'_Yours, Fredrick? If this is the way you treat your humans, I shudder to think what would become of the Lycans you request of my father,' _she had said in that ringing voice to her master. He muttered some platitude and Sonja raised a gloved hand, without taking her eyes from Luka's.

'_I would like a maid. Sell her to me.'_

Silver changed hands and her master was dismissed. Lady Sonja turned to another servant and said, _'See that she has a bath, a proper meal and tending to her wounds.' _She then addressed Luka for the first time, a slight smile revealing a winking fang and a charming dimple in one cheek.

'_Fredrick is a worthless cur. I wouldn't see him own a mouse, much less a skinny little girl. You're safe now, human.' _

Since then, Sonja had shown her nothing but kindness. Her mistress was the closest thing Luka had ever had to a mother, sister, or teacher. So Luka tended her things and kept her secrets. But now that secret would have her killed. Helpless misery wound its way around her heart. Despair had been her constant companion in the long, lonely two day ride.

_He_ deserved to be in prison, not Sonja!

There was a thicket ahead, obscuring the river she followed. She slowed her horse and the grateful beast dropped to a plodding walk. She saw movement in the trees and knew she was in the right place. Luka entered the camp of men and saw him, beaming as he approached her horse. She saw him falter mid-stride, and the smile died the moment he realized that Luka wasn't his beloved. Luka shoved back her cowl and glared at him with all her impotent hate.

"Luka. What's wrong? What happened? Where is she?" he demanded.

"Sonja's been arrested. He _knows_ about the two of you," Luka snapped, mustering every ounce of venom she could muster.

It was his fault!

She watched it sink in, watched the ugly truth of it dawn on his face and felt a dark satisfaction as he swayed on his feet. His loss was as great as hers.

"He will kill her," he said softly.

"I thought you should know."

Luka wrenched her horse around and rode off into the night, alone.

"It's a trap, you know that," Sabaas reasoned.

"You'll be killed!" Xristo snapped harshly.

Lucian slid the two scimitars he'd modified for his own personal use home in their sheaths across his back. Resolve hardened within him. Freedom meant nothing without her. _Life_ meant nothing without her. The love of Sonja had wakened something in himself that he had never known existed.

"I will not let her die alone," he stated with the slightest emphasis on 'alone.' If he didn't make it in time to save her . . . a shudder ran through him. Death would be preferable to a life without Sonja.

His mind was already flying across the leagues that separated them, forming a ragged semblance of a plan. Raze matched Lucian's stride, emanating concern.

"They followed you here, Lucian. If you go, we will lose them."

"Let me tell you something, my friend, they may have followed me but what truly brought them was the idea of being free, that what brought them here. Now you can hold them here until I get back, and lead them if I do not."

Lucian left him, sprinting with every ounce of speed he could muster back toward the castle, toward Sonja . . . and Viktor.

In retrospect Lucian mused, breaking _into_ the castle was far easier than breaking _out_. After years of climbing sheer rock faces to reach Sonja, it was ease itself to scale the wall and cross the courtyard to his forge before the Death Dealer on the wall had even turned around. A storm was gathering, he noted, sniffing the wind. He could hear rumbles of thunder on the horizon and a smattering of drops pelted his leather-clad shoulders and dampened his hair to ropy strands. His entrance was where the ease ended. Even though he had been a denizen of the castle since infancy, he had never been inside the castle itself without an escort.

His heart slammed against his ribs, his breathing ragged as he scaled the stairs and ran soft-footed down the second-floor hall. Save for the random candelabra lit in a sconce, the halls were dark and damp, like the interior of a cave. His skin crawled, imagining vampire eyes watching from the darkness his eyes couldn't penetrate. He hadn't been this apprehensive when facing untold scores of hostile werewolves!

Lucian froze at the sound of boots at the end of the hall. He leapt up, bracing himself on the walls. He gulped in a deep breath and held it, hoping his thudding heart wouldn't betray him. A Death Dealer paused directly beneath him and a drop of rainwater fell from Lucian's hair and landed with a bell-like chime on his helm. The Death Dealer looked up, and Lucian fell upon him, dragging the edge of his sword across the vampire's throat. Red blood spurted out and stained Lucian's chest and arms. A brief surge of satisfaction burned through him when he saw it was Cai, the one who had killed Eoin. It felt good to vent rage and fear in blood-letting on Viktor's lapdogs. He shook the blood from his sword and hurried on. Time was running out. He needed to get Sonja and get out of the castle before the body was found.

Blindly, he rounded a few corners and at last saw two Death Dealers guarding a door. Relief swept through him. Alive. She was still alive. He retreated back and stomped his feet, smearing Cai's blood on the stones. One of the guards came to investigate and Lucian smiled. If all of Viktor's Death Dealers were this unwary and stupid, there was hope for them yet. His dispatched the two guards and shoved open the door, breaking the iron lock. Sonja stood across from him, sword drawn.

They stared at each other for a long moment, drinking in the reality of each other's presence and wholeness. Tears filled her eyes.

_You came back for me, _her eyes said.

_Of course,_ his replied.

They moved as one, meeting in a tight embrace, no less potent encumbered by weapons and armor as they were. Their mouths met in a kiss, a sweet battle of lips and tongue, devouring each other and Lucian's heart soared. Sonja pulled back, her free hand stroking his face.

"But Lucian . . . you were free." His throat closed. His Sonja, had she clung to that knowledge, even imprisoned and waiting for the death blow to fall?

"Not without you," he replied, snatching another kiss. He pulled back and grasped her hand.

"We have to go. Now."

Lucian hung back, letting her lead them through the labyrinthine halls, trusting her eyes, her speed and judgment. Two hapless guards stood over the grate they needed. Both he and Sonja struck in perfect sync and they two of them fell dead to the ground with a muffled thud.

It was raining in earnest now, lightning arching in white fingers across the sky and thunder snarled and growled loud enough to rattle the stones. Now Lucian took the lead, guiding her. They were so close! Just another few steps and—

One of the grates above opened and a barrel fell, bursting open and spilling its contents. A torch followed and the pitch caught in an explosion of roaring orange flame.

"Get back!" he shouted, pushing Sonja away from the fire. They backtracked, switched directions, but systematically, each route of escape was cut off by a seething wall of heat until only one grate remained. _Damn Viktor!_ Lucian thought viciously, herding them like cattle, funneling them to the route he wanted.

Lucian looked to Sonja. Her eyes were blue, with fear or anger, he wasn't sure. A hard fight faced them, maybe an impossible fight, against Sonja's own father. The conflict caused by their love, what they so desperately tried to ignore now loomed over them. A part of him wished she would surrender and plead for mercy, at least then she would live. But his Sonja, brave, loyal and a goddess in battle, she would not shrink from a fight.

It wasn't in her.

He nodded once and kissed her sword hand.

'_I love you,'_ he mouthed, before leaping into the rain.

Sonja batted aside Janos' spear and leapt into the air, kicking Varos across the jaw and turning a graceful flip. She landed and sliced open Varos' throat, watching him fall dead to the flagstones. A moment's fierce regret assaulted her for killing her own kind, for killing vampires she had trained and fought with. But whatever regret she felt was erased at Lucian's muffled grunt as one struck him. A thorny circle of Death Dealers held Lucian at the point of a crossbow. The sound and sight of it lit a fury in her hotter than the sun.

She would kill and kill again until both of them were free!

Janos ran at her again, armed now with a sword. She parried and spun in a tight circle, bringing her blade down across the back of his neck, his face a macabre mask of agony. A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up in her.

_Dead again, Janos,_ she thought, thinking of their many spars. She barely felt the storm as it raged around her, soaking her to the bone. Sonja turned and was rocked by a vicious backhand slap. That was familiar.

Now the moment she had dreaded.

She lifted her sword, dripping with vampire blood, against her father.

"How _dare_ you raise your hand to me!" he bellowed, drawing his own sword.

"I do not want this," she stated, blades of agony slicing shallow wounds in her soul. The pain mingled with anger. He forced her to it!

Unhearing, Viktor shouted, "I am your father!"

_Fathers don't bite and strike their daughters,_ she thought blackly, all buried resentments and hidden slights surged up, coalescing into one pulsing knot of concentrated anger. They danced with their blades, elegant, singing sweeps of steel cleaving the air.

_Fathers don't arrange to have their daughters murdered. _He grasped her sword arm, wrenching it to a painful angle.

"You think you can defeat me?" he sneered.

"I don't want to defeat you," she spat through clenched teeth.

_Fathers don't threaten to kill their daughters' husbands!_ Sonja yanked her arm free, batted aside his sharp thrust and disarmed him with a quick twist of wrist, shoving him down across the stone steps. The sight of her father prostrate beneath the blade filled her with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and pain. If their places had been reversed, she could not say with any certainty that he would hesitate on the killing blow. That knowledge was a bitter draught to swallow.

Her tears were lost in the rain, her heaving sobs hidden by the roar of thunder. She set the tip of her blade to Viktor's throat.

"Killing me won't save your precious Lycan!" he spat, seething even in defeat.

"Please call off your men. For the sake of your grandchild."

Sonja could not have evoked a more diverse reaction. A collective hiss escaped the Death Dealers' lips at her words and the silver tips of their crossbow bolts dug into his neck. It was only the fear of Viktor's wrath that kept them from killing him. Viktor looked like someone was cutting out his entrails with dull knife.

Lucian himself could scarcely been more . . . shocked? Surprised? Stupefied? The feeling defied description.

Pregnant.

A child.

His child.

By the moon! How was it possible?

Sonja grasped her father's limp hand and pressed it to her belly.

"A miracle, Father. A union of the bloodlines!" she said, pleading. Mixed blood, a hybrid child . . . unheard of. An abomination to vampire purists like Viktor. Lucian knew Sonja's plea would fall on deaf ears. Viktor would try doubly hard to rid himself of this repulsive and cumbersome secret.

Lucian watched the shock ripple through Viktor's body. What did he feel? A heartbeat? The baby's movement as it sensed its mother's touch—and its grandfather's? Lucian's own hands ached, yearning to feel what he felt, to share the wonder of it with her, his beautiful wife. Viktor seethed in rage and disgust, his face twisted with the ravages of both.

"I curse the day your mother gave her life to bring you into this world. That _thing_ inside you . . . is a _monstrosity_!"

Lucian glimpsed the wink of steel in Viktor's hand and called out a warning, _"Sonja!"_ Red-black pain exploded across his mind as a Death Dealer struck him in the belly while another hit his head with the butt of his crossbow.

"This is over," Viktor growled, holding the cold steel to his daughter's throat.

"Remove him!"

A Death Dealer grabbed each of his limbs and bore him away, struggling and screaming her name. The last he saw was her head bent in defeat, her father's hands talon-like on her shoulders.

_**For the first alternate ending, choose Chapter 2.**_

_**For the second alternate ending, choose Chapter 3.**_

_**For the third alternate ending, choose Chapter 4.**_


	2. Fetch My Knives

**Fetch My Knives**

_Enter Standard Disclaimer._

"_Aye."_

Such a small word, insignificant compared to charged words of 'daughter' and 'pregnant.' Those words had meaning, kinship and hope attached to them. The world tilted and spun on the axis of this word. Lucian watched blearily as the shock broke over her face. Sonja blinked, the tears clotting like liquid diamonds on her lashes.

That trivial word had been spoken by her father.

That trivial word had condemned her to a painful death.

Betrayal and pain washed over her beautiful face, usually opaque, giving no clue to her emotions. Now they writhed naked on her face, as if viewed through a pane of glass. Lucian struggled against the hands that restrained him. He would beg. He would weep and plead and perform any manner of degrading ritual to spare her. The hands were hard and implacable, bruising him in their grip. So he called out with all the power of his voice.

"She's your daughter!" Lucian cried, eyes locked on the immutable plane of marble that was Viktor's face, indifferent to the naked beseeching in his daughter's soulful hazel eyes. He could have said no.

Elder or not, he could not deny the will of the council. No council member would look unfavorably upon him had he chosen not to vote, or voted against them. Sonja was his _daughter_, for the moon's sake! He could have said no, but he hadn't. _Oh Sonja!_ Lucian thought. The knife in her belly was being twisted in relentless, brutal turns.

He could have said no.

"No, Viktor! No! No! Viktor!" Lucian screamed.

"Take them to the chamber."

Lucian was forced along at an odd lurching gait halfway between dragging and shuffling, hampered as he was by the manacles around his ankles and the long-striding pace of his captors. With every twist of his torso, the silver crossbow bolts dug still deeper into his flesh, filling his blood with its burning poison and knifing pain. Some dim part of his mind registered that he had larger concerns than scrapes on his knees and bolts in his flesh.

Lucian focused instead on Sonja's back. Even clothed in a slave's stained tunic, he could see the definition of her spine and shoulders, smooth and shapely. Her black hair fell like silk down her back and he remembered the feel of it knotted in his fingers, the delicate tickle of it as she moved above him. Though chained hand and foot, the vampires remained dimly conscious of her rank and did not molest her person. She walked like a queen, proud and tall.

When their fight was lost, Viktor had overseen himself that Sonja was stripped of her leather and mail and garbed in the dingy yellow tunic she now wore. He even yanked out the twist of gold that held back her bangs and her black hair fell in soaked tangles around her face. The only thing Viktor let her keep was the necklace he had given her.

The chamber Viktor had so ominously referred to was an execution chamber. A stone scourging post loomed in the center, with sets of rings in the floor for conspirators to wait their turn. The vague fear held in check by pain and fatigue coalesced in Lucian's belly and he clenched his jaw to keep from whimpering. Sonja's bound wrists were lifted over her head and Lucian was dragged to a place directly opposite her, chained so that could neither stand nor sit.

A moment's brief grace allowed him to simply look into her eyes and find asylum there. How hard they had fought to free themselves from the chains the vampires imposed on them! Then Viktor and his lackeys filed in, including Soren and his whips.

Another scourging then.

Lucian shrugged laconically. It was only bodily pain. Viktor stood impeccably composed, hands folded behind his back. He fixed his gimlet gaze on Sonja, willing her to look at him.

She did not, defiant to the last, locking eyes instead with Lucian.

With a nod to Soren, Viktor left his daughter to die under his order.

Soren took his place behind Lucian, baiting the whip in lazy flicks so he could hear the metal blades weighing the leather tails scrape across the stone. Lucian focused solely on Sonja's face, watching her quiver with fear, concern and anger. Tears coursed down her cheeks and Lucian passionately hated Viktor and his black, sadistic, vengeful spirit. How such a vile creature could create such perfection as his Sonja was beyond him.

Soren's whip whistled on the upstroke. Lucian tensed, but still was unprepared for the pain that bit hot and bright and vicious, screeching a burning line across his broad back. He did not howl, but let out a low groan, bucking against the manacles in one futile surge to get free.

"No!" Sonja cried, in a vain attempt to stop the punishment, struggling against her chains.

Grimacing, he straightened, nodding to her, telling her he was all right. The second stroke made the first seem like a light tap. He did scream as one of the crossbow bolts twisted sideways inside the flesh of his back, tearing muscle and nerve. The strokes fell like hailstones, pelting him again and again and again until he thought all the flesh was stripped from his back to the bone. Lucian pressed his cheek against the cool stone, his mind as fragile as a soap bubble. One wayward breath and he would burst into a mist of rainbow droplets. Then, as suddenly and violently as it began, it stopped and Lucian listened to the vibrations of Soren's boots as he left the room. He relaxed into a state of blissful unconsciousness, only to be woken by Sonja's unsteady voice.

"Lucian! _Lucian_!" she wept and he could hear the rattle of her chains as she tried once more to get to him. Lucian mustered the flagging remains of his strength and rose to his knees. It was only then that he heard the sound of the chain. The massive anchor chain was turning, the pieces of ceiling cracked, letting in narrow streams of sunlight. Ragged panting breaths, barely stifled sobs escaped Sonja, eyes glued to the death that awaited her. Lucian forgot the pain in his back and fought in earnest against his chains.

It was his dream all over again. The sun would come and burn her, baptize her in pain, in death, spirit her away to a place where he could not follow.

Stars above, he did not want her end to be in terror!

"Sonja! Don't look at that. Just look at me. _Sonja!_ _Look at me_!"

She obeyed, fixing her eyes on him. A shudder ran through her and he watched her face harden into a look of such bleak courage that his heart burst with love. One tear defied her will and streaked down her cheek.

"I love you," Lucian croaked. She summoned a smile for him, weak and gentle.

The ceiling panels creaked threateningly and began to shift.

"As I love you," Sonja answered, "your face will not be here when this is over, will it?"

"No . . . no!" he wept, sobbing like a child, begging the inanimate ceiling to spare his beloved.

"Goodbye, my love," Sonja whispered.

The portal opened and soft golden sunlight flooded through the circular aperture, engulfing Sonja as she looked up to greet the sun for the first time. It couldn't have been more than a couple minutes, but to watch her skin blacken and hair burn, hear her blood boil to vapor, watch the pain ripple through her body . . . it seemed an eternity. He was a Lycan Prometheus, chained for an eternity with his heart being torn out and eaten by a black-hearted vulture.

His screams shattered the dawn's pure beginning.

_**"NO! NO! SONJA!"**_

Lucian screamed until he had no voice, wept until there were no more tears; beat his head against the stone in an attempt to follow her until blood mixed with the sweat and tears on his face. And still—_still!_—the grief ravaged him, a rape of the soul that left him shattered.

Finally, he sought relief in sleep, a deep, convalescent sleep where his anguish did not exist.

The creak of the door wakened him. Lucian remained still, unable to bear the mocking of a sneering vampire. He listened to the light, authoritative rap of boot heels, the soft whisper of cloth and recognized his wife's murderer.

'_Aye.'_ The word rang in his ears, a grim word of assent. He could have said no. He could have said no!

Lucian looked up to see Viktor contemplating his daughter's charred corpse. Did he regret it? Did he even care? Lucian watched as his pale hand rose, as if to touch the remnant of Sonja's face in memory . . . and plucked the necklace's charm from the half-melted chain.

_Damn him!_

Unreasoning anguish assailed Lucian's battered soul—his anger and pain joined indivisibly. Lucian strained against his chains, his strong features clear cut under the light of the swollen white moon. Ah, the sweet pale moon, she washed Lucian in her gentle light, sinking into his blood and bone, urging him to change. The silver in his back stopped him, his veins scorched with its burning poison. The warring sensations riled him into such a state of confused misery that he pined for the bliss of oblivion.

The heavy rattle of Lucian's chains made Viktor turn, remembering his existence. Something flickered in his pale blue eyes, something dark and unholy that promised retribution. He turned to a Death Dealer and almost crooned, "Fetch my knives."

Lucian felt as if he had swallowed broken glass. Torture then, before he joined his wife in death. While his flesh quailed at the thought, Lucian could summon no more emotion than a mental shrug. His brothers were free; Sabaas, Xristo and Raze would lead their brothers well once he was dead.

And Sonja . . . His own words came back to him.

_I will not let her die alone. _

He wouldn't.

Lucian cast a glance at the burned remains of his beloved. He could face his death with her bravery.

_Goodbye, my love._

The Death Dealer returned with a leather case. A jerk of chin dismissed the two guards and Lucian was alone with Viktor. The vampire lord untied the thong and unrolled the leather casing, revealing a grisly array of glinting knives. One white finger grazed lovingly across the rows, almost thoughtful in its languor.

"I spent the day imagining what I would do you, Lycan. It took a great deal of careful deliberation. The violence of my anger very nearly led me to kill you last night. But . . ." he paused, "I wanted you to _see_. I wanted you to _feel_ it and know what it was you had done." Viktor's voice started soft, almost gentle, but as he spoke whatever barrier held back the flood of his rage began to rupture, vitriol coating every syllable.

At this, Lucian protested, surging to a close approximate of an upright position, "What _I_ have done? It was _you_! You were the one who-"

The punch to his belly held all of the unyielding, unremorseful inertia of a rockslide. Robbed of breath, Lucian's tirade tapered off into wracking coughs. Talon-like fingers sank into his hair, dragging his head up. The grip was painful, but Lucian dared not wince, remembering Sonja's courage. Viktor's face was severe and sharp-edged, seamed with lines of middling years that had passed centuries before. His force of presence was enough to make even the bravest of his kind quake in terror and was all the more potent viewed at the proximity of a span.

But Lucian was perhaps one of the few not to be cowed by Viktor's dark, potent charisma.

"You . . . you thankless _wretch_! I gave you your life. I trained you, educated you . . . _and you repay me by defiling my daughter!"_ Viktor roared, and stood, pulling Lucian with him by his grip on the turf of his hair. Viktor being several spans taller, Lucian now dangled off the ground, the downward pressure of the chains around his wrists threatening to pull his arms from their sockets. Viktor sensed the weakening and ruthlessly yanked him up, and Lucian's shoulders dislocated with a faint _pop_. A small, stifled cry emanated from Lucian's throat as pain tore through him. Viktor leaned close, fangs glinting from beneath a lip snarled in disgust.

"What say you to that, Lycan?" he whispered, the words dripping with menace. When he found breath, Lucian whispered, "I loved her."

"You _killed_ her!" Viktor snarled, throwing him into the unforgiving stone floor. Lucian felt the stone slab buckle, matched by the shattering of bone in his arm and ribs. Red-black pain burst across his vision. Lines blurred and Lucian glimpsed a sketchy picture of Viktor, a naked knife glinting maliciously in the moonlight. Blood filled his mouth and dribbled from his lips into a small red puddle beneath him.

"You could have said no," Lucian whimpered.

Viktor approached him, as inexorable as Death itself. Eventually, Death found them all, even Immortals. A lazy flick of the blade cut the grubby leggings from his thigh. With a chirgeon's precision, Viktor buried the knife into Lucian's thigh, neatly dodging the thick vessels that would cause him to bleed out quickly. Lucian screamed, the knife like a hot poker.

"Silver," hissed Viktor in triumph. Lucian's eyes unfocused, the twisted, gloating visage shifting to the blank, expressionless countenance he wore in the council chamber.

'_Aye.' _

"Why didn't you say no?" Lucian whispered.

Another knife flashed like a bolt of lightning, skewering in his belly. Lucian could only muster a low grunt as his mind numbed itself in a vain attempt to escape the pain. Viktor leaned close again to whisper in his ear, "I'm going to greatly enjoy killing you, _Lucian_." Lucian looked up at the moon and felt his eyes blur to that killing blue that his kind shared with the vampires and his fangs lengthened. He surged forward with the last of his strength and sank his fangs into the vulnerable juncture between Viktor's neck and shoulder.

_No one had ever survived a bite from both species._

"Likewise, Viktor."

_**So Sonja, Lucian and Viktor are dead. Go back and see if you can find a happier ending.**_


	3. Genesis

Genesis

_I don't own Underworld._

She could hear the pounding of Lucian's heart behind her and knew both his pain and his fear, for they mirrored her own. Some nebulous notion of her privileged lineage kept the Death Dealers from dragging her by her arms too. They let her walk, eyes riveted ahead, not looking at her—their disgraced First.

Sonja's entire existence was the next step, the cool, coarse feel of the stone under her bare feet, the heavy, chafing grip of manacles around her wrists and ankles, tinkling musically as she moved. She could not think of their failed escape, her sentencing, or what lay ahead. Her skin felt thin and fragile, as if her body's contents would simply spill onto the floor at the slightest breath of air.

It was all she could do to keep from shaking.

They were led to the execution chamber.

A stone scourging post loomed in its center, and Sonja let out a soft, quivering breath. Fear possessed her as a Death Dealer locked her manacles in place above her head. Muscles rebelled against the iron grip she maintained on her will and began trembling in earnest. A soft cry rose in her throat as Lucian was dragged to a place directly opposite her, chained in an awkward position on his knees.

Peace stole over her looking into his eyes. Swimming in those pools of indigo, she was safe. She loved him so much her chest ached. Tears stung her eyes at the thought of their child. By the stars, if she had only kept her mouth shut! They had fought so hard—and failed. _She_ had failed . . . and now Lucian and their poor innocent child would die! The depth and ferocity of her love for their child surprised her. But she did. Sonja loved it, for it was hers.

But it was too late . . .

Viktor and his minions filed in, including Soren and his whips. Sonja cried out within her soul to any god who would listen. _Please no! Not again!_

Another scourging.

Lucian held her gaze, trying to comfort her.

Sonja could feel the weight of Viktor's drilling gaze. Wild grief rose up, and hate.

_You damned me to hell! _She screamed silently.

Soren took his place behind Lucian, baiting the whip in lazy flicks. The heady rush of hate ebbed into fear and love for Lucian. The sound of the metal blades that weighed the leather tails scraping across the stone sent shivers up her spine. Lucian, her brave beloved, focused solely on her, eyes fixed on her face as if she was the key to his salvation. Tears coursed down her cheeks, unheeded.

Soren's whip whistled on the upstroke. Sonja watched it arch with a sick fascination, its scream echoing the one inside her. The whip came down with such deadly force on Lucian's back and she saw the pain twist his features. He did not howl, but let out a low, wrenching groan, strong, lithe body fighting against the manacles in one last attempt to get free.

"No!" Sonja cried, in a vain effort to stop the punishment.

Grimacing, her husband straightened, nodding to her, telling her he was all right. Then the second stroke fell and Sonja could only watch, impotent and seething as the blows rained down. He buckled under the force of it, curling in a fetal position on the floor. At last, Soren left them alone. Her un-beating heart fluttered. He was so still . . .

"Lucian! _Lucian_!" she wept, straining against her bonds. He twitched, tired arms bracing on the floor and with a grunt of effort, heaved into a kneeling position.

Dawn was coming.

Sonja could feel it deep within her bones, a restless instinct to move, to hide. There were no words of prayer or succor to soothe her. Even the promise of a quick death was uncertain. Traditionally, the older the vampire, the faster they burned—as if the magic holding death at bay was pared to a thread by their accrued centuries. It was a defense mechanism for her species, she supposed. Young vampires were more likely to survive if they had more time to find a suitable hiding place instead of burning to a crisp in a fingersnap. One vampire in Tannis' histories had taken a quarter hour to burn. Knowing how it was to be burned by the sun, this thought made her tremble.

Sonja herself was a little over two centuries old—relatively young. And through her veins ran the blood of an Elder. By her reckoning, the death that now approached her would be both painful and slow.

All under her father's order.

The massive anchor chain was turning, the pieces of ceiling cracked, letting in narrow streams of sunlight. Ragged panting breaths—barely stifled sobs—escaped Sonja, her eyes oddly hypnotized by the golden light, like a moth attracted by the dance of candle flames.

It looked so warm and gentle . . .

Lucian, her beloved Lucian, fought in earnest against his chains despite his wounds. Anguish assailed her at his helpless rage, the tears in his eyes.

"No . . . no!" he wept, sobbing like a child, begging the inanimate ceiling to spare her.

"Sonja! Just look at me. Keep your eyes on me. _Sonja!_ _Look at me_!"

She obeyed, fixing her eyes on his face as if to memorize every line and curve. If there was an afterlife—even for one such as her—she wanted to take the memory of him with her. She gathered the frayed pieces of her courage, jaw clenched against the sobs of terror. They had only moments now. One tear defied her will and streaked down her cheek like a liquid diamond.

"I love you," Lucian croaked. She summoned a smile for him, weak and gentle.

The ceiling panels creaked threateningly and began to shift.

"As I love you," Sonja rasped, throat raw with fear and heart raw with pain, "your face will not be here when this is over, will it?"

He watched mute and terrified.

"Goodbye, my love," Sonja whispered, then lifted her eyes to greet the sun for the first time in two centuries.

The portal opened and soft golden sunlight flooded through the circular aperture, engulfing Sonja as she looked up. It took minutes for her to burn.

_Minutes_.

The longest of his existence, as he watched her skin blacken and hair burst into flames, hear her blood boil to vapor, watch the pain ripple through her body as threads of fire curled inward into the heart of her, gleaming dully like an ember . . . it seemed an eternity. He was a Lycan Prometheus, chained in perpetuity with his heart being torn out and eaten by a black-hearted vulture named Viktor. 

"_**NO! NO! SONJA!"**_ he screamed.

Mind, heart, body and soul recoiled from the horror and pain and Lucian fell into a dead faint in front of the charred remains of his wife.

The creak of the door wakened him. Lucian remained still, unable to bear a vampire's mockery. He listened to the light, authoritative rap of boot heels, the soft whisper of cloth and recognized his wife's murderer. Lucian looked up to see Viktor contemplating his daughter's charred corpse. Lucian watched as his pale hand rose, as if to touch what remained of Sonja's face . . . and plucked the necklace's charm from its half-melted chain.

_Damn him!_

Returning to claim his trinket from his daughter's corpse!

That disgusting, vile _monster_!

Unreasoning rage assailed Lucian's battered soul. Lucian strained against his chains, his strong features clear cut under the light of the swollen white moon. Ah, the sweet pale moon, she washed Lucian in her gentle light, sinking into his blood and bone, urging him to change. The silver in his back stopped him, his veins scorched with its burning poison. The warring sensations riled him into such a state of potent, agitated misery, centered on the silver bolts in his back.

If only he could _push . . ._

Then, like a miracle, it worked. Some strange inner tightening of muscle and focus and the silver was _moving_, pushing free from his flesh.

Savage exultation raced through him and released the mental chain holding back the change. His skin split, bones snapping into place as he forsook his human body and its soul's anguish for the clean, burning rage of his wolf form under the full moon. The duality, the partnership of mind between the human and animal was skewed—the human Lucian lay curled within walls of heartbreak and gave the beast free reign.

Wolf-Lucian rose, towering over the thin, cold thing that he hated even in this body. His nostrils expanded, scenting ash and the faint savor of human misery. The cold thing turned, lips parting in a snarl to reveal glinting fangs, so dainty compared to the blades of bone within his own mouth. The cold thing hissed in challenge and wolf-Lucian swiped at him with a clawed paw, scoring flesh.

Something small fell with a bell-like tinkle to the floor. Wolf-Lucian's sharp eyes followed its path and saw the bronze shield shape set with an opaque green stone. The trinket stirred something in his human mind, a remembered tenderness. He scooped it up and, as the cold thing's pack of shining allies burst into the room, leapt out of the window with a shower of green glass.

More cold things seethed from their stone den, like an upset anthill. Wolf-Lucian scented freedom in the cool air beyond high stone walls and turned toward it. Two cold things blocked his path and he attacked, forcing them to the ground and crushing their skulls with his forepaws. He heard several angry buzzes and shining-silver-darts flew past him, a scant span from his pointed ear. Pain burst through his arm as a shining-silver-dart pierced him through the wrist. He glared at the cold thing at the other end of the chain and yanked with a vicious heave, slamming it into the wall. In one galloping leap, he was halfway up the stairs, nearly free—two silver-darts sank through thick black fur into muscle. Wolf-Lucian let out an enraged roar, but struggled toward the top of the wall.

Human Lucian fought against the beast of instinct and power, wresting some measure of control. The Death Dealers armed another crossbow and fired, catching him through his leg. The silver was beginning to take effect, already he felt the monstrous body buckle, weaken. He crawled, step by agonizing step, to the summit of the wall. Lucian summoned his energy and loosed a gigantic roar, in both defiance and summoning.

_Come my brothers! Come! Let us win the night!_ He said, _Come my enemies! Come! Let us dance, you and I!_

Lucian sprinted around corners, following the trail of Viktor's scattered armor. The old monster was preparing for him. He knew if he fought encased in that silver armament, Lucian's speed and anger would overtake him.

"It doesn't matter what you do, Viktor. Tonight, you will die," Lucian muttered fiercely, the stone of Sonja's necklace digging into his palm. The images of her death rose sharp and terrifyingly vivid in his mind and he used it—all the rage and the pain to fuel his strength and cunning. He followed the curve of the hall down several flights of stairs to the old Lycan prison complex leading to the channel and finally the sea.

And was nearly decapitated by a scissoring sweep of two swords. Lucian raised his own blade, and their fight began.

Viktor fought like a demon, with a peculiar mixture of ferocity and stony restraint that puzzled Lucian. His own blows were no less calculated, but fed by a deep and seething fury that burned brighter than the sun. The two of them were linked through her.

_Sonja. _She haunted them both.

A kick knocked Lucian onto his back. Viktor loomed over him like a brooding gargoyle.

"You defiled my daughter!" he snarled, eyes blazing. _Defiled?_ Lucian's temper snapped.

"I _loved_ her!" Lucian shouted from the ground.

"You killed her!" Viktor shot back, leaping with a powerful downward stroke strong enough to cleave his head in half. When the blow met reached its extension, Lucian was already up, matching it with a blow of his own. An aggressive shove knocked Viktor down a narrow flight of stairs.

They struggled amid dangling chains, a fitting microcosm of the conflict that led them to this point. Their struggles loosened the stones anchoring the thick iron chains and beams of sunlight peeked through gaps. A savage delight burned through Lucian. What a fitting death it would be for him to die by the sun as he had sentenced Sonja! Lucian flung the chains in an arch, entangling Viktor like a fly caught in a spider's web, struggling desperately for freedom. Lucian approached, hefting his sword.

"I should have crushed you under my heel the day you were born!" Viktor spat.

"Yes. You should have." He thrust mercilessly, feeling flesh and bone give way. Blood poured from Viktor's slack lips, blue eyes wide in an almost comical expression of surprise.

"But you didn't." he finished, yanking the sword free and watching his foe's limp body fall into the water, scorched by the dancing beams of sunshine. He and his brave brothers—with some help from William's spawn—had won the day.

But their struggle was far from over.

No, he would not rest until he brought the entire corrupt aristocracy of the vampires down on their heads.

His fist closed around Sonja's necklace, holding tight.

_Let me tell you something about your beloved dark father. He's the one who killed your family, not the Lycans. But when he got to you, he just couldn't bear the thought of draining you dry. You, who reminded him so much of his precious Sonja, the daughter he condemned to death._

_Lies._

_**The ending the same as the movie—Viktor and Lucian alive to continue the war. See if you can change it!**_


	4. Divergence: I

Divergence

_I don't make any money doing this. Underworld belongs to its creators._

The sword blade gleamed in the intermittent flashes of lightning, a shape of sharp and deadly beauty that could cleave flesh as easily as it now cleaved the air. Her shining sword struck, swift and silver, knocking aside Janos' too-slow thrust of a spear. Sonja leapt into the air in a graceful flip, kicking Varos across the jaw and drawing a shower of blood. She landed and sliced open Varos' throat, watching him fall dead.

A moment's ferocious regret assaulted her for killing her own kind, for killing vampires she had trained and fought with. But whatever regret she felt was erased at Lucian's muffled grunt as one struck him. A thorny circle of her father's Death Dealers held her husband at the point of a crossbow. The sound and sight of it lit a fury in her, as furious and elemental as the storm that raged around them, soaking her to the bone.

_Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned._

If that was true of a human woman—how much more did it mean for a vampire? The First of the Death Dealers?

Janos ran at her again, armed now with a sword. She parried and spun in a tight circle, bringing her blade down across the back of his neck. He twisted as he fell, and she saw his face set in a macabre mask of surprised agony. A hysterical urge to laugh bubbled up.

_Dead again, Janos,_ she thought, thinking of their many spars.

Sonja turned and was rocked by a vicious backhand slap. That was familiar. Now the moment she had dreaded. She lifted her sword, gleaming red with vampire blood, against her father.

"How _dare_ you raise your hand to me!" he bellowed.

"I do not want this," she stated, fugitive blades of agony slicing shallow wounds in her soul. The pain mingled with anger and fear, a potent, dangerous mix. These wild emotions made her desperate—and she had everything to lose.

Unhearing, Father shouted, "I am your father!"

All of Sonja's buried resentments and hidden slights surged up, coalescing into one pulsing nub of concentrated wrath. Father drew his own sword and together they danced with their blades, elegant, singing sweeps of steel cleaving the air. Much of her style was derived from her father's restrained rage, wicked-sharp focus—with her own sophisticated polish and brazen flair.

He grasped her sword arm, wrenching it to a painful angle.

"You think you can defeat me?" he sneered.

"I don't want to defeat you," she spat through clenched teeth.

Sonja yanked her arm free and the duel intensified. They moved faster than human vision could follow, the steel of their swords screeching in protest. She batted aside his sharp thrust and disarmed him with a clever twist of wrist. A brutal shove knocked him across the stone steps. The sight of her father prostrate beneath the blade Lucian had forged for her filled Sonja with a peculiar mixture of satisfaction and pain. If their places had been reversed, she could not say with any certainty that he would hesitate on the killing blow. It was a bitter draught to swallow.

She set the tip of her blade to Father's throat.

"Killing me won't save your precious Lycan!"

"Please call off your men. For the sake of your grandchild." she replied calmly. Sonja watched the shock and horror of it dawn on Father's face, then those blue eyes snapping with spectral flames of rage.

The storm's snarling sounds filled the courtyard. Tension stretched and strained and screamed. Sonja could not break the connection of their eyes, one misstep and they would lose. As long as she held the sword to her father's throat, no Death Dealer would harm Lucian. She grabbed Father's slack white hand and pressed it to her belly to share in the marvel of her baby's heartbeat.

"A miracle, Father. A union of the bloodlines!" she exclaimed, appealing to his mercy this one last time. A tiny fragile seed of hope remained in her heart, offered to her father in cradled hands. Father yanked his hand free, seething in rage and disgust and betrayal, his face twisted with their ravages. Sonja watched herself die in her father's eyes, her name and deeds erased from his memory. The seed was crushed and her heart bruised.

"I curse the day your mother gave her life to bring you into this world. That _thing_ inside you . . . is a _monstrosity_!"

Steel glinted out of the tail of her eye.

Viktor struck.

She struck faster.

Sonja knocked the knife out of his hand with the flat of her blade and skewered him through the shoulder with a deft stab. Pain and surprise colored his low hiss. The drilling look of loathing he gave her extinguished the lone flame of love that remained.

"You'll _pay_ for that," he promised.

"I already am, Viktor," she whispered, grateful her voice didn't shake. That seemed to touch him, for he frowned a little, a thoughtful pursing of lip. In a louder voice, echoing his in its haughty injunction, Sonja commanded. "Call off your men!"

It was Viktor who broke their stare, glancing seethingly at Lucian. The storm's rage ebbed, a hush as the next words floated in the air.

"Drop your weapons," Viktor rasped. His Death Dealers stared dumbly for a few moments.

"Do it!" Viktor shouted, accompanied by a deafening boom of thunder. Crossbows fell to the ground with a dull, protesting twang.

"Lucian." She summoned him with a whispered word, seeing hate transform Viktor's features as he approached. Sonja didn't dare even look at her husband, though his closeness was balm to her soul.

"You won't get away with this, Lycan!" Viktor's voice boiled with impotent rage, hands balled into fists.

"I plan to, Viktor. You will see," Lucian replied quietly. Sonja tilted her face a fraction of a span to one side, feeling the warmth of his skin and scenting the blood Viktor's Death Dealers had shed. She grazed her eyes over him briefly, assuring herself of his soundness.

"Go, my love."

His gaze flickered between her and Viktor then nodded once, blue eyes warm with empathy. In one smooth leap, he jumped to safety on the far side of the wall. Lightning split the sky, glowing strangely in her father's eyes that bored into her like an auger. Sonja yanked her blade free from his shoulder. Unable to bear one more moment under his gimlet stare, she instead addressed the blade she held—coated with the blood that marked her a traitor to all her own kind.

"I did not want it to come to this. I truly didn't. Goodbye, Viktor."

His heart labored within his chest, pounding in mad beats in an effort to keep his blood churning through his veins. His lungs screamed and a deep aching burn resounded through every muscle. Sweat mingled with rainwater and stung in his eyes and he swiped irritably at the tangled tendrils of hair falling in his face. The toe of his boot caught on a tree root and he fell to his knees with a grunt. Lucian braced his hands on the ground, gulping down grateful breaths of cool, rainy air. He fixed his gaze on his hands, unable to bear her gaze. Her cool hand brushed his brow and it soothed his fevered flesh. Lucian dragged in a slow breath, enjoying her scent, like pine and the earthy scent of woman.

"Come, my love. I know you're tired, but we have to keep going," Sonja said.

Since vampires did not have to trouble themselves with such inconsequential concerns as breathing, they could run from dusk to dawn without pause. Lucian nodded and staggered to his feet, still too breathless to speak. She drew his arm across her shoulders, avoiding tender ribs, and bearing some of his weight. Together, they surged into an odd, lurching jog, Sonja nimbly leaping over roots and stones and Lucian determinedly trying to keep pace.

Both of them had existed in such a fevered state of crisis that the magnitude of the past hours had yet to fully sink in. Desperate minutes spent in battle and escape, followed by hours of dogged running, at any second expecting the angry whizzing of a crossbow bolt or the thunder of horses' hooves. They were nearing the clearing where Lucian's small army was mustered. His plan had involved breaking into the castle and freeing what remained of the Lycans. But . . . he glanced at her in profile, features strong and turbulent, like the storm that raged overhead in all its stark, violent emotion.

Now he had a family to consider.

"Why . . . why didn't you . . . tell me?" Lucian wheezed. Sonja glanced at him, a frown pulling at the supple curve of her mouth, hazel eyes wide and pleading holes.

"There isn't time for this now," she said, quickening the pace. Lucian dug his heels in, pulling them to a stop. His belly felt as tight as a drum, ire flashing through his veins.

"Yes—there is time for it! Time enough to . . . to tell your thrice-cursed father about it!" he snapped, "He won't stop now, Sonja. We've humiliated him and broken every law of the Coven! He won't stop until all of us are dead!"

Anger shivered through her like an unseen current. She jerked away from him, eyes a snapping blue.

"You think I don't know that? You might have forgotten, you ignorant _dog_, but I was once a council member and First of the Death Dealers! I know the Coven's laws—I've _executed_ vampires for less than what we've done tonight! I've burned all my bridges. For _you_."

Lucian recoiled as if she had slapped him. He leaned against the solid trunk of a tree, arms folded over his chest. Clad in black leather and silver mail, she looked like a tragic heroine, sad, beautiful and fierce.

"You're blaming me?" he whispered, "after all this?"

Sonja exhaled an impatient breath, raking long fingers through black hair that hung in half-dried hanks framing her face. Thunder rumbled softly now, the rain a steady soak instead of a downpour. Rain gathered on leaves and branches before falling in hard drops on their heads and shoulders. One such drop struck her and Lucian watched its path down the swell and dip of forehead and temple.

"No. I'm sorry." She closed her eyes and one hand fell, cupping her belly protectively.

"I didn't know how . . . I couldn't . . ." Lucian studied her mutely as she struggled find her footing in the terrain of her soul. When she opened her eyes, they were her natural hazel, warm and soft like the lazy brush of a fern frond in the breeze.

"I didn't want to burden you with it if I didn't have to. You had other concerns—like freeing yourself and your brothers from slavery. I told Fath—_Viktor_ . . . because I wanted to give him one more chance to know me . . . to love me."

Lucian's anger evaporated.

"Sonja," Lucian crooned, wrapping his arms around her. She hissed and shoved him back, fangs distended.

"Forgive me, my love. I cannot stand the smell of your blood. I was imprisoned for three days without sustenance."

Lucian touched his lower lip, which had begun to bleed again during their argument. It was a small amount, no more than a few drops, but was as tantalizing as a feast for a thirsty vampire. He was struck once more by her bravery, by the depth of strength and will that defied description. Any other vampire deprived of blood for three days and nights would have either collapsed from exhaustion, or gone into a wild frenzy of feeding the instant they came within range of a beating heart. She could have hidden a mortal wound and he would have never known the difference.

He bent and drew his knife from his boot, poised to cut his wrist.

"No, Lucian!" Sonja cried. He frowned.

"Why? You've drank from me before." She looked discomfited; obviously remembering the predictably sexual results of the encounter Lucian alluded to. His groin tightened at the memory.

"That was different," she muttered, "I won't drink from you. You're exhausted. I won't drain you of your strength. I'll be fine." There was a peculiar emphasis on the word 'fine,' as if she was reprimanding the parts of herself foolish enough to complain about the lack of nourishment.

Lucian grazed the blade across his wrist, unconcerned with the stinging pain.

"Oops," he said, smiling. He watched in fascination as her hazel iris was swallowed by bright, icy blue, like the stroke of an artist's brush. A shudder raced through her. Lucian offered her his wrist, veins laying distended like blue cords under his skin. She fell to her knees, cupping his wrist like a sacred offering. Her lips trembled in eagerness. Those bright eyes blazed up into his, crystalline in their hurt and anger.

"Damn you, Lucian."

What powerful weapon her thirst was!

It clawed at her like a screeching demon, urging her to drink and drink of this life-giving liquid flowing from his veins, from that delicious throbbing heart. She could make it churn swift with fear, it added such a sweet flavor—fear. She had not been thirsty when she drank from him before; she had needed it only to heal.

Now, half-mad with thirst, she drank with greedy abandon, only dimly aware of Lucian's soft grunts of discomfort. The frenzy intensified, the pounding of his heart rang in her ears.

_No! No, it's _Lucian_!_ _Lucian! _Screamed a tiny voice. With a cry, she tore herself away, leaping up against the trunk of a tree twenty paces from him. Shaking like an addict in withdrawal, Sonja pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and tossed it to him.

"Wrap the wound until it heals."

He obeyed and Sonja jumped down, addressing the dripping boughs arched above their heads.

"Never tempt a thirsty vampire. Even if that vampire is your wife. I may not be able to control myself next time."

Sonja fell back behind Lucian as they approached the Lycan camp, trepidation like weights of lead around her legs. Despite Lucian's reassurance, Sonja doubted any sort of warm welcome. After all, their leader had run off in the middle of the night to save her and they had barely escaped with their lives. Lucian blasted a loud whistle that screeched in her ears, three notes, high, low, then high again. A handful of seconds passed and an answering whistle whispered through the rain.

Lucian flashed her a brilliant smile and seized her by the shoulders for a quick kiss, no less thorough for its brevity. His joy tingled on his lips and infected her with its euphoria.

"We're free and alive, my love. Nothing else matters," he whispered, then interlaced their fingers. Pleasure rushed through her, as absurd and flighty as a teenage girl with her first beau. They didn't have to hide anymore.

Hand in hand, she and Lucian entered the camp. With a Death Dealer's appraising glance, she took in their number, one hundred and two; their armament, a motley assortment of stolen swords, axes and pitchforks, none of which were in arm's reach, the amateurs; and the lay of the land. Lucian's triumvirate of lieutenants, Sabaas, Xristo, and the big black man, Raze, had the high ground, though if she had to, she could jump from that boulder to the tree behind them and—Lucian's hand squeezed hers, sensing her tension. Sonja tried to relax, tried to prize her hand free from the hilt of her sword, but a deep-seated instinct held her back. The prickle of unfriendly eyes made her perversely calmer. She gathered her vampire's cool dispossession, an icy arrogance.

"Good to see you back, Lucian," greeted Sabaas, his thin, fox-like features grazing over her bedraggled appearance with unconcealed dislike.

"A testament to Viktor's weakness if you could steal his daughter from beneath his nose," sneered Xristo, a blatant barb against her. _Insolent pup! As if he could wound me! _she thought fiercely.

"Don't give me the credit. Thank Sonja. We would both be dead without her," Lucian said, his dark blue eyes soft with love on her.

That one glance, that one statement of faith melted the walls of ice she had begun to build around her heart. She felt so vulnerable and exposed, her weakness standing beside her as plain as day. It would be so easy to cripple her. Unthinking of their audience, she brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles.

Their shock was palpable.

"You?" Xristo repeated dubiously.

"What did you do?" Sabaas asked. Sonja straightened, meeting his gaze with drilling precision, primally pleased when he glanced away.

"When Viktor's Death Dealers had Lucian at the point of a crossbow, I stabbed him in the shoulder until he capitulated," Sonja said succinctly. The rain and wind conversed quietly in the silence that followed.

"Is that true?" Xristo demanded. One hundred and two pairs of eyes swiveled to Lucian. With the smugness of a proven faith, Lucian nodded. Raze broke the stunned silence by approaching the two of them and clapping a friendly hand on hers and Lucian's shoulders.

"It was a fine brave thing that deserves a drink, eh?" he rumbled, his voice as deep a bass as thunder. Sonja looked up at him, as thick and solid as a hundred year old tree. He would make a formidable enemy, Sonja thought, now that Lycan blood coursed through that massive frame. Lucian laughed, a rare and beautiful sound that seemed to fill the world with its music, in Sonja's biased opinion. He was always so stern and serious. It was a miracle to see him smile and laugh with such ease.

"I think you are quite right, Raze. Do we have any mead left?"

The air of the camp relaxed as the men milled about fetching food and tankards. One of the young Lycans, seeing her hands empty, offered her a crudely hewn plate laden with thick stew and a hunk of dark bread. Sonja accepted it with a thin smile, hoping he wouldn't wait until she took a bite. He didn't, thank the Elders, and Sonja turned to find a place to sit and met Xristo's hateful gaze. She saw the blow coming, but to her surprise—and essential to his survival—he didn't strike her, but dashed the plate from her hands.

"Don't give her food, my brothers!" Xristo shouted, "Do you want to know what she is? She is _vampire_ and they take their nourishment not from food, but by drinking a man's lifeblood! She's a _parasite_!"

Sonja stood unmoving under this verbal onslaught. His words were nothing she had not considered before, especially after drinking from Lucian. She _was_ a parasite, a deathless cold thing that drank its life from the blood of others. Sonja had never felt such passionate self-loathing.

"_Xristo_," Lucian snarled. Sonja looked to find him standing, nearly trembling with rage, eyes wide pools of dark water. She read the intent in his stance.

"Lucian, don't-" she began, but was too late to stop the deadly momentum of his fist as it connected with Xristo's jaw. The other Lycan fell to the ground, limp as a dead fish. Lucian's eyes raked the camp and one by one, his men looked away like shamed children.

"Do any of you have anything ill to say about my wife? If you do, say on now, to my face! You fools! Do you have any idea what she has done to be here? There are none to match her in courage, or loyalty." Though Sonja's heart soared at Lucian's defense of her, she saw all too clearly the resentment in the faces of his men, especially Xristo who now came to, rubbing his bleeding lip.

Sonja heard the approach of running feet and leapt across the clearing, drawing her sword a few spans from its sheath.

"Someone's coming," she explained curtly. She sniffed the wind and relaxed, slamming her blade home.

"Lycan."

Sabaas moved forward.

"It must be Gyorg. I sent him to scout yesterday," he said.

"Whatever message he carries must be important. He's running like a demon is chasing him," Sonja commented.

"How far?" Sabaas demanded, teeth grating at the thought of asking a vampire for information that was beyond the scope of his senses. Sonja's mouth curved minutely.

"A quarter of a league, maybe. Would you like me to run and meet him?"

"No. I would hear his message from him," replied Sabaas. _Without any editing from you, _he said silently. Sonja shrugged as if the matter was of little import to her.

"As you wish."

Lucian caught her eye and winked, privy to both Sonja's amusement and Sabaas' annoyance. Presently, the bald Lycan Gyorg staggered into camp, falling to his knees at Sonja's feet. She offered him a hand. He looked up at her and she flinched at the look of raw, grieving hatred in his eyes.

His news was not good.

Sonja stepped tactfully back and Sabaas fell to his knees alongside his brother.

"Gyorg! Gyorg, what is it, man? What's happened?" Sabaas questioned. Gyorg gulped down breaths to feed his air-starved lungs, his barrel chest heaving like a leaking accordion.

"It's . . . it's Viktor . . . he . . . he's gone . . . completely mad. He . . . . he . . . he . . ." Gyorg gasped, his visage twisted by exhaustion and emotional anguish. He grimaced, revealing twisted yellow teeth. The camp clustered close, wound taut with mounting fear.

"He's . . . killed them—all of them! Our . . . our brothers! He's putting them all to the sword!"

Over a hundred voices rose in simultaneous outcry—of horror, shock and confusion. Sonja closed her eyes. She had feared this. Viktor's humiliation and rage would find vent somewhere.

"That vile _monster_!"

"Our brothers, gone?"

"What does this mean for our cause?"

Sonja turned to Lucian and saw the pain of it ripple across his face. The thread that bound them together writhed in mad denial. One by one, the voices died away, their attention swiveling to their leader. He didn't notice. Every thought was focused inward, muscle and sinew trembling in an effort to contain the explosion of feeling.

"Damn him! Damn him to hell!" Lucian shouted, his cry as raw as a wounded animal.

A small alarm began to peal in her mind and Sonja cursed the timing.

_Sunrise._

"Lucian," she said quietly.

That one word broke through the haze of his anger and he looked at her, then followed her tactful glance upward. The cloud cover had thinned and patches of lightening sky appeared, awash with the colors of dawn. They had perhaps ten minutes, maybe less. Comprehension burned in his countenance, chased by naked fear. Lucian summoned Raze with a flick of finger and the large black man stooped his broad shoulders to hear Lucian's confidential whisper.

"Raze, there is a small cave about half a league due west. Take Sonja and wait for me there. Quickly!"

Sonja opened her mouth to protest when Lucian silenced her with a kiss, his tongue plunging into her mouth with delicious invading force. He pressed his forehead to hers, warm breath wafting delicately over her face.

"This is not your fault. Go," he whispered. With that, he stalked out of camp, flanked by Sabaas and Xristo. Sonja took a step after him when a large dark hand wrapped around her wrist, warm and callused, nearly large enough to span her entire forearm.

"Come," he rumbled.

With one last glance at her husband's retreating back, Sonja caught the accusing glances, the resentment and suspicion emanating from each Lycan—old or young. She overtook Raze's ground-eating lope and couldn't help feeling that they were right.

This was her fault.

Raze was sharply aware of the honor Lucian had bestowed upon him, entrusting him with the life and honor of his own lady. His thick lips curved in a wry grin. Not that his lady needed protection. He had never seen a woman—vampire or otherwise—that moved with that liquid surety of a warrior and gods above, she was fast! Whatever Lycans had over vampires in strength, vampires made up for it in speed and agility. The sun threatened to break over the horizon at any instant and Sonja flew over the ground like some dark, graceful bird.

"Where is it, Raze?" she shouted over her shoulder. He lagged behind, unable to keep pace. He stopped, his heart feeling as if it would burst free from his chest. One arm lifted and pointed to a copse of trees a little to their left.

"Through there!" he bellowed. She disappeared into the shade scant heartbeats before dawn broke. Raze expelled a breath in relief and trotted the remaining distance. 'The cave' as Lucian called it was scarcely more than a hole in the ground. A man of Raze's size couldn't fit, but Sonja had room enough to sit up or lie flat. The sun dappled his shoulders with pleasant warmth, after the wretched cold of the long, rainy night. He had thought a Lycan's existence a curse beyond bearing, but now he realized that being a vampire would be far worse—scorned even by the sun. Perversely, it comforted him.

"Are you well?" he growled. She smiled, revealing the pointed white tips of her fangs. There was something eerily sexual about a vampire staring out from the darkness that prickled along Raze's skin. He stepped back, breaking the insidious train of thought.

"Yes. It was a close thing," she whispered. Raze nodded and squatted down, feeling his muscles stretch and expand in grateful relief. He closed his eyes, listening to the birds sing.

"I'm sorry," she said coolly, "for your brothers."

Raze opened one brown eye and saw real regret in her face. A secret smile tugged at his lips. Another quality she shared with Lucian—a tendency toward martyrdom. Both of them carried the weight of the world on their shoulders, every mistake and decision was somehow their fault.

"Lucian is right. It isn't your fault. It is Viktor's. He's the one who killed them."

"But he killed them because of what _I_ did to him! I humiliated him and he retaliated by killing the innocent!" she shot back, tears filling her eyes.

"And if you had not fought back? Viktor would have killed you. And what would have become of Lucian then?" To this she had no reply, so Raze forged on.

"I have only known him for a fortnight or so, but Lucian is my friend. I have seen him with you and I know that if he lost you, he would go mad with pain. What Viktor did was against all of us, not just you and Lucian. I feel regret that they died—for they were my brothers now. But I did not know them as Lucian, Sabaas and Xristo did. Viktor perhaps has made a mistake in making them his blood enemies." Sonja nodded absently, finger-combing her long black hair.

"Thank you, Raze. Lucian is lucky to have a friend like you."

Raze smiled.

Lucian was the link between them, but Raze felt a kinship stir upon looking at her. Sonja was an outcast just as he was. Though he was a Lycan, many of his brothers looked upon him with suspicion, simply because they had never seen a man of his color. And in this land, where monsters ruled, his dark skin was at best unlucky and at worst, an indication of demon possession. Likewise, Sonja epitomized everything the Lycans hated: vampiric wealth, beauty and superiority, not to mention that their aggressor was none other than her own father.

Sonja smiled back, with a wry twist on her full lips that echoed both his thoughts and the tentative link of friendship.

"We should get some rest. It has been a long night," she said. Raze nodded.

"I'll take the first watch."

_**There! Lucian and Sonja are alive and together! There may be more of this story left in me. Let me know if I should continue.**_


	5. Divergence: II

II

Lucian threw down the awkward weight of pilfered weapons and sprinted unencumbered from camp. He had to be sure she was safe. His men—their forces now augmented by five-and-seventy former serfs and the entire contents of the unfortunate lord's armory—now collapsed in sunny patches to catch a watch or two of sleep.

Lucian felt as if he had been given a jeweled box containing a precious treasure. By unspoken agreement, he and Sonja never dared to think beyond the next tryst, the next stolen moment in each other's embrace. To imagine a future of freedom was too frightening. The consequences of gaining that freedom would spell the death of everything she had once held dear and Lucian would do a great many things to save her pain—including living in bondage to be near her.

But here they were: alive and free and together.

Even though grief burdened his heart for his brothers who had met their unjust end under Viktor's wrath, joy sprung from an even deeper well.

Lucian lengthened his stride, jumping nimbly over a fallen log. Alive! Alive and together! He squinted up at the rain-washed sky, adorned by the burning jewel of the sun and smiled. Today, he could even forgive the sun's rays that were so deadly to his beloved. Shade enveloped him like Sonja's cool embrace and he breathed deeply of pine—her scent. She saturated the air and he could get drunk on it.

His eyes adjusted to the shade and found Raze's massive form stretched across the mouth of the cave. Hearing his approach, Raze turned, brandishing a hunting knife. Lucian smiled again, his cheeks complaining at the unaccustomed strain. Perhaps it was strong women or vampires in particular, but Sonja would no doubt resent the fact he had sent protection at all. Though he was confident in her skill, he also knew she was at her most vulnerable when the sun was up. Raze nodded once in greeting, one thick finger hovering over his lips in an unspoken plea for quiet.

Lucian peered around Raze's bulk and found Sonja, safe in the cave's deep shade. She lay curled on her side, hands curled like new leaves under her chin, midnight hair in wild disarray. A surge of tenderness welled up inside him and he longed to reach out and touch the heartbreaking curve of her collarbone, kiss the bruises on her wrists where Viktor had grabbed her. He did neither of these things. Instead, he hunkered down beside Raze and pulled a loaf of dark, coarse bread from a sack. He broke it and offered half to his companion.

"She gave up everything, Raze. Home, position, wealth, family, her entire _species_. For me," Lucian whispered, watching her chest rise and fall, out of habit rather than need.

"More proof that she loves you," Raze rumbled in reply, shrugging his muscled shoulders. Lucian's mouth twisted into a smile, this one without a trace of mirth.

"Aye, proof enough. Proof I didn't need. I would be a cad if I didn't realize the travesty of it. What will she have with me? Days of sleeping in the dirt, nights spent in flight or in killing her own kind."

He tore off another bite with more savagery than was required. Old frustrations and envies surfaced, as well as a sneaking unworthiness. His jeweled box containing the promise of their life together was a stolen treasure, pilfered from beneath her father's nose. What would her life have been had he not touched it? What if their lives had gone on without noticing each other? His gut twisted at the thought.

Raze exhaled heavily.

"Lucian, she has seen what our kind has endured for centuries. She knew the consequences."

Lucian's eyes lovingly traced the elegant column of her neck, the strong shoulder rounded with muscle. It was a testament to her exhaustion that his low-voiced conversation had not woken her. The ageless perfection of her features had borne slight traces of strain around the eyes and mouth, now relaxed away in repose.

"Perhaps," he answered.

He and Raze shared the remainder of their bread and cheese in silence. Raze was a man that did not need to fill the quiet with meaningless chatter and Lucian respected that quality. Lucian laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed convivially. His wide, dark features regarded him with mingled respect and affection.

"Thank you, my friend," Lucian said sincerely, "go back to camp and get some rest. At nightfall we're moving on." Surprise flickered briefly in Raze's deep-set brown eyes.

"Where will we go?" Lucian snorted.

"Hell if I know! It is by sheer luck that Viktor's Death Dealers haven't found us yet. We need more men, supplies, weapons. Brasov, maybe? Constantinople?"

"You intend to start a war with Viktor?"

"No," Lucian said sharply, "no. This is his war, Viktor's. He birthed it the instant he enslaved me. _He_ started this by trying to have Sonja and I killed, by killing our brothers! I would have happily lived peacefully with Sonja and our child, but-"

"Your _child_?" Raze repeated, agog. Lucian could have bitten off his tongue. Instead, he smiled, stupidly happy at this simple admission.

"Yes. Sonja is pregnant." He watched Raze digest this information with a wary glance at Sonja's sleeping form. He wrung his big hands thoughtfully.

"How is that possible?"

"Hell if I know," Lucian said again, quietly contemplating his friend, measuring him.

"Does it disgust you? Sicken you?" he demanded, his fingers tightening on Raze's broad shoulder. Raze's thick black brows bunched together like two black caterpillars inching together. His response was without pause or consideration.

"Of course not!" he growled. Tension ebbed from Lucian's body.

It was because he was so newly turned, Lucian thought. Raze had not labored under the lash of a vampire's whip for endless years. His great heart had not sickened with bitterness and prejudice. Sabaas and Xristo however . . . both were poisoned by their anger, blinded by it. The others would follow their example. But Lucian could trust Raze with what was dearest to him.

"Good. That's very good. Go on now. I'll sit with her." Raze eyed him with that steady, knowing look and left, loping away without looking back. Lucian sighed, raking a hand through his tangled hair.

Weariness wrapped around him like a sodden blanket. How long had it been since he'd slept? Two days? Three? He floated into the cave and stretched out in front of Sonja, so that she slept protected in the shadow of his body from any errant shaft of sunlight. He curved her body to fit against his, wrapping an arm around her waist and tucking her head into the hollow under his chin. He had time only to recognize how wonderful it felt before he was asleep.

**XXX**

She woke warm in dusk's hazy shadows. Her entire front tingled with unaccustomed heat, her limbs lazily ignoring her commands to move, like a reptile stupid with the sun's sleepy warmth. Sonja opened her eyes and found the ruddy, stubbled skin of Lucian's neck, his throbbing pulse vivid under her lips. His arms and legs tangled together with hers, clinging like a starfish. Tenderness and exasperated amusement twisted together inside her. His unthinking trust touched her, even as thirst flared to aching life. It had been a long time since she had properly fed.

Too long.

Sonja stopped breathing entirely, so as not to be tempted by his rich, salty human scent. But she was reluctant to move and wake him. The music of his heartbeat and his soft breath stirring her hair was utterly, wonderfully sensual, even though the intimacy of his embrace was encumbered by their armor and thick leather clothing. A thought sang through the thirst and the pleasure: _Alive._ _Alive and together._

A small, soft counterpoint to Lucian's heartbeat throbbed within her, cradled between them.

Lucian stirred, lips lazily raking a damp path from her hair to her forehead.

"Sonja," he purred sleepily, his voice vibrating against her lips. She breathed in to speak, throat scorched with a burning flame of thirst.

"Lucian," she greeted, kissing his neck. His hand slid down her chest and the curve of her hip, clumsily seeking. She pressed his fingers to her belly.

"Do you feel it? That little heartbeat?" she whispered. The muscles of Lucian's torso tightened in shock, his shocked exhalation wafted warm and moist along her skin.

"I feel it," he murmured, fingers raptly stroking her belly. He arched his neck to look at her, eyes blue pools of liquid adoration.

"It's a _miracle_," he whispered. Sonja kissed the underside of his chin with fervent love.

"Yes. Yes it is. Our miracle."

His hand floated up to cup her cheek, a rough thumb stroking the curve of her cheekbone.

"Oh my wife . . . you are so beautiful." If weren't for the near reverent sincerity in his tone, Sonja would have laughed in his face. Hair snarled in matted tangles, smudged with dirt, mail streaked with reddish-orange rust, she knew she hardly looked like a vampire princess. Sonja snatched in another quick breath, nearly _tasting_ the ripe, delicious temptation of his blood.

"You flatter me, Husband." She noticed for the first time the slight inward turn of one of his two front teeth as he smiled.

"Flattery has nothing to do with it, my love. You are radiant," he told her.

Sonja's pale fingers fluttered, gently drawing his face to hers for a kiss. She had meant it to be a quick peck of thanks, of greeting. But Lucian had other plans. The kiss spun on into infinity, a euphoric fusion of lip and erotic tangle of tongue. His tongue thrust deep into her mouth, seeking its corners in an ancient suggestive rhythm. Arousal flowed through her body like sweet fire, ripening . . .

Sonja broke the contact gently. She dared not make love to him. Not when she was so thirsty. She might bite him in her passion. Her bite would kill him. Disentangling herself from his embrace, she rose to her feet in one lithe motion.

"I'm sorry. I must . . . feed."

Unable to bear the disgust—or worse, _understanding_—in his eyes, she melted into the forest, now cool and soft in a balmy summer's night. Prey was easy to find. A herd of elk roamed the mountain foothills and now slept in a protected glen. Sonja's eyes grazed over the sleeping forms and chose a wounded bull near the edge of the glen; she could smell old blood and suffering. She listened to the heavy meaty pulsing of his heart and her throat tightened in anticipation.

Four soundless strides and she knelt in dew-wet grass next to the oblivious bull. In one quick, effortless gesture, she wrenched the massive head at an impossible angle. Its neck snapped with a wet crunch. The bull's massive body seized in an absurd attempt to get free, brown eyes lolling. The rest of the herd roused and spooked, fleeing the glen with a rumbling thunder of hooves and heavy muscle. Her eyes burned blue, fangs lengthening. A branch snapped behind her and she turned to find Lucian, outlined in soft white light by the full moon.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed. She didn't care to identify the burning emotion that made her eyes sting with tears and her teeth clench, but it felt suspiciously like shame. He was battling his own instincts, she knew, the full moon pounded through him with unrelenting intensity. The only clue to his struggle was his eyes, dilated to pools of black.

"I wanted to hunt with you," his voice was deeper, rougher. It raced over her skin. The pull of his sexual energy compelled her, as the moon compelled the tides.

Sonja glared at him.

"Go away. I don't want you to-" his laughter broke in, rich and vibrant as song.

"To what?" he asked, still chuckling, "See you feed? Sonja, do you really think that matters? I've seen vampires feed before. By the moon, you've fed from _me_! You take what you need from the animal, just as I do. Once you're finished, I'll take the meat. My men would relish something fresh."

Sonja smirked sheepishly.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are an infuriatingly practical man?" she drawled. He grinned, scratching his chin idly.

"I have heard it on one or two occasions. Now hurry up and eat before your food gets cold!"

Minutes later, Sonja helped Lucian load the drained elk carcass onto a makeshift travois of branches. Thoroughly sated, Sonja now felt slightly sleepy, almost turgid with blood. Lucian brushed her hand in passing and a small thrill ran through her. After years spent chained to only veiled glances, every casual touch sent pleasure burning through her. Naked hunger burned in his eyes. Her body was ready and trembling with desire, but . . .

Lucian grinned mirthlessly and nodded, seeing her hesitation and the reasons behind it. They had hordes of Death Dealers hunting them and a camp that grew more vulnerable with each passing moment.

Not now.

Not yet.

A strange air of shyness fell between them as they made their way back toward the Lycan camp. A dense layer of cloud obscured the moon and Lucian visibly relaxed. While not completely relieving the moon's pull, it dulled the edge.

"We'd better hurry," Lucian murmured after several companionable minutes of silence, "It'll be a long march to Brasov."

Sonja frowned.

"Brasov? Why are we going to Brasov?" Lucian mirrored her frown.

"Where else would we go? We can't stay here, not with Viktor hunting us." He paused, stopping to face her fully. Sonja set down her side of the travois and dusted the bark from her hands. Whatever he had to say required her full attention. Lucian grasped her hands and she squeezed reassuringly, relishing the shape and warmth in them. They were strong hands, capable hands.

"Sonja, I mean to continue this war with Viktor. I . . . I cannot allow him to simply get away with all he's done—to me, to you, to all of my kind!—he needs to be brought to justice!" he broke off, mastering his passion with a shudder. His tone gentled.

"Can you bear it, my love? Can you go to war with your own father?"

Bitter pain welled up in her soul, souring the delirious joy she felt in freedom, in Lucian's love. Viktor was a bleeding wound in her heart, a daughter's love for her father that could not be stifled. She turned inward, searching for a kernel of doubt, of regret.

She found none.

It was painful and it was hard, but her actions were well justified, as were Lucian's.

"I've made my choice, Lucian. I knew it would be war from the moment I set my sword against his. Viktor will try to exterminate us." The molten love she carried for Lucian and for their child hardened into steely resolve.

"I won't let that happen."

Lucian expelled the massive breath he'd been holding, unutterable relief relaxing his severe features. Sonja's chuckle was deep and easy. She cupped his cheek.

"Were you truly worried? What would you have done?"

He smiled sheepishly.

"I don't know," he said, with faint surprise, "Left the war to my brothers, most likely. If it's a choice between you and a war with Viktor, I choose you."

Love rose in her blood like champagne bubbles and she leaned in to kiss him when the sound of a snapping branch broke the air. Her instincts honed by many years as First of the Death Dealers, Sonja reacted without thinking. She sprang in one clean, fluid leap twice the height of a man, drawing her sword as she did so. The slobbering jaws of the werewolf pursuing her snapped on empty air with a heavy _click_. Sonja landed lightly on the balls of her feet, lifting her sword to decapitate the wolf that now gorged on their elk meat.

"Wait!" Lucian bade, raising his hand to stop the killing blow.

Sonja's blood buzzed with the dark, desperate thrill that came to those who fought for their lives on a regular basis, but she obeyed, questioning with an eloquent lift of brow. Lucian smirked in a cocky attempt at reassurance and approached the beast, hands spread.

"_Lucian_," she hissed through clenched teeth. The beast's erect black ears pricked. It paused its gorging and roared at Lucian, ribbons of bloody flesh dangling from rows of sharp, yellowed teeth. Her idiot husband did not pause his approach, or break eye contact. Sonja matched his footsteps, ready to hack off a limb if the wolf got any ideas about eating Lucian—no matter how much he might deserve being chewed on. Crouching low over the broken travois and eviscerated corpse, the werewolf roared again, but Sonja noticed the sound was markedly weaker. Sonja hissed as the beast rose on its hind legs, a towering mountain of fur and muscle and teeth, knuckles white on the hilt of her sword. It bowed its head, the long muzzle nearly touching Lucian's hair.

The whole forest was tense and quiet, waiting with Sonja for the outcome. She watched the wide, glistening nostrils flare, sucking in a deep breath of Lucian's scent. Lucian tilted his head up a fraction of a span and the werewolf dropped to all fours. Lucian's hand rose, slowly, almost lazily, and rested lightly on the coarse black fur of the werewolf's snout. A shiver ran through the massive body. Lucian's voice broke the spell, deep and calm.

"Come, Sonja. He won't harm us now."

Sonja followed him, still unbelieving. The beast made no move to pursue them, returning to its meal. The heavy snapping of the elk's bones echoed after them.

**XXX**

"Brasov? No! I say we go back to the castle and show Viktor what happens when you tangle with the Lycans!" Xristo shouted, slamming his fist into the trunk of a tree for emphasis.

"I agree. We cannot run away with our tails between our legs. Not after what he has done to us and our brothers," Sabaas said the earnest violence in his voice underscored by its soft volume.

"For our brothers," Gyorg echoed.

Lucian's teeth clenched in frustration. Perhaps it was the full moon swathed in her gauzy cloak of cloud, but Lycan tempers were rising fast. By the moon, it took all of Lucian's willpower to fight against the violence of his desires. The primal part of him longed to change and howl out his dominance to the cold, bright stars. Another large part of himself yearned for something deeper. Sonja's scent clung to his skin and it was all he could do not to throw her down on the ground and take her—Lycan scruples be damned.

"You are all of one accord in this?" Lucian asked, looking long at each of his lieutenants. Their proposal was reckless and vengeful, but he would be lying to himself if he said the thought of striking a hard blow against Viktor on his own lands didn't appeal to him. And with William's werewolves to augment their small army . . . they would obey him, he was sure of it, especially after the little encounter in the clearing.

Xristo, Gyorg and Sabaas nodded. Lucian turned to Raze, who took his ease on a stump, his massive war axe across his knees. His broad shoulders twitched as if his shirt was too tight.

"The men are restless. If we do this thing, Viktor will have no time to increase his forces," he rumbled.

"Then your thirst for vengeance will be the death of the lot of you," drawled a cool, female voice.

Sonja moved from her place leaning against a truck of a tree and stalked into their council. Lucian's eyes were drawn to the sway of her hips as if magnetized. Beneath his heavy leather armor, his male flesh rose stiff and urgent. She was so beautiful, even with her face tight with irritation.

"How can you be so sure, vampire?" sneered Xristo. Lucian thought he saw the corner of Sonja's mouth twitch in contemptuous amusement.

"Because, _dog_, our advantage lies _here_," she gestured to the forest, "where Viktor and his Death Dealers have no notion of our number or our arms. We can easily ambush them and erode Viktor's men and morale with no losses to us." Pride and love flowed from Lucian's heart. A keen warrior's mind like Sonja's now turned against kith and kin. _How hard it must be for her_, he thought, _to speak so flippantly of killing the warriors she trained alongside for over a century._

"That is assuming that Viktor does not come out in great force. What's to stop him from burning the forest down over our heads?" Sabaas pointed out. Lucian, so carefully attuned to her moods and expressions, saw the slightest fluttering of muscle in her jaw, the barest tightening around her eyes.

"Viktor would never act so rashly. To burn the forest would leave some chance of our escape. If he comes, he will come to kill us. We have only two options: flee and fight another day, or hide in the forest and whittle his forces down. If Gyorg's report is accurate-"

"Are you calling me a liar?" Gyorg yelled belligerently, stabbing a dirty finger in Sonja's direction. Lucian opened his mouth to emit a scathing reprimand. Sonja beat him to the punch, eyes crystalline blue. He was aware that the murmurs of conversation were dying down as one by one; the men listened to their debate.

"No," she whispered. The deadly softness of her tone sent a discreet shiver of foreboding up his spine. His perception distorted by years of loving companionship, he often forgot just how dangerous Sonja could be when provoked.

"I was merely making a hypothetical statement. It's over two syllables, can you even say it? Hy-po-thet-ical," she spaced the syllables with such scathing mockery that Raze and Lucian chuckled. Out of the tail of his eye, he could see Gyorg trying to sort out the word's meaning. Lucian took a discreet step between them, intervening before the tiff came to blows.

"I believe what Sonja was going to say is that in killing our brothers, Viktor no longer has anything to tether us. We have nothing to return for, save revenge." He met her eye and saw them soften to hazel, she nodded in affirmation.

"Viktor is shrewd enough to provoke us and draw us back onto his lands where he could deal with us as he wishes. But he is also prideful. We could use that." Xristo and Sabaas' voices rose in protest. Lucian silenced them with a glare.

"I have a better idea."

**XXX**

"_This_ is your better idea?" Sonja hissed in his ear, mounted together on the Lycan's sole horse. Lucian bit back a chuckle, remembering Sonja's proximity to the veins in his throat. A flick of rein discouraged their mount from snatching a few leaves from a nearby tree.

"Everything will be all right," he promised. She nipped the side of his neck gently, easing the sting with a velvet stroke of tongue.

"It better be, dog. I haven't come so far just to lose you to a stray crossbow bolt you were stupid enough to invite."

Lucian halted their horse just behind the treeline and twisted in the saddle to look at her.

"It will be all right, my love. I swear," he said solemnly, kissing her. He dismounted and tersely ordered his men to their places among the trees. He summoned a roguish grin for Sonja and stepped out onto the boulder-studded field before Viktor's castle.

**XXX**

His fists curled around the lip of the wall. He felt the stone rupture and pulverize into dust under the unrelenting inward curl. Otherwise, he remained stiffly composed, unmoved by the all too familiar voice shouting his name beyond the walls, ringing in challenge.

"_VIKTOR! VIKTOR_!" bellowed Lucian, "Come out and face me, you coward!"

A Death Dealer hovered hesitantly behind his right shoulder.

"Would you like us to fire upon him, my lord?" he asked tentatively. The vampire was skittish around him, everyone was. They knew the hot blood of the earth pressing against the fragile crust, liable to burst at any wayward word. Viktor instead seized one of the massive crossbows mounted on the walls, aiming to Lucian's stupidly, stubbornly stationary chest, and fired.

A flurry of movement.

Viktor's keen eyes followed the lithe figure, moving too fast for human eyes to see, her sword a flashing bar of silver. She cut the head of the spear, kicked aside the useless shaft and landed lightly in the rocky soil. His dau—no! He would never think of her as such again! Not after she fornicated with beasts and its spawn mutated and spread in her belly! Fortunately, only he was aware of that little fact. The Death Dealers present he had killed himself, laying the crime on Lucian's head. He hissed, surreptitiously touching his shoulder where her blade had pierced, healed by a day's rest. She did not hurl obscenities and challenges as her thrice-cursed bastard cur of a husband did, but merely curtsied in mocking defiance. Viktor drew back from the wall and drew his sword.

"Kill the dogs!" he screamed, pointing the blade at Lucian. A great shout shattered the air and Death Dealer and council member alike found their horses and weapons, lit by the eager instinct to shed blood under the swollen moon.

A grim smile touched his lips.

The mongrel wanted a war, did he? Well Viktor was only too eager to oblige him.

**XXX**

Sonja's hands tightened on the hilt of her sword, watching the lines of mounted vampires form before the walls of the castle. Viktor was there, his face a blank mask of fury. He was all the more dangerous for his anger, lithe and nimble without the encumbrance of armor.

"Go, my love," Lucian said to her, "It's safe in the forest." Sonja stared at him as if she had seen him before. He was sending her away? Did he doubt her mettle as his stupid puppy lieutenants did?

"No," she replied, widening her stance defiantly. Lucian's blue eyes blazed into hers like the heart-flame of a sapphire.

"Sonja, I will not allow my pregnant wife to go into battle! Especially against her own kind, her own _father_! You do not have to endure this anguish!" The edges of her anger softened.

_Oh beloved . . ._

"Anguish? And what _anguish_ will I feel if my father kills you? I stay with you," she whispered.

Lucian opened his mouth to protest, but Viktor sounded the charge and several hundred vampires bore down on them. Lucian drew the curved swords from their sheaths across his back. The two of them waited as the vampire force thundered for them, blood in their eyes and the moonlight glinting off their fangs. Sonja stood at Lucian's shoulder, staring unwaveringly at Viktor, daring him to run her down.

"Now!" Lucian said and Sonja broke away, sprinting with him into the safety of the trees. The Lycans gathered, as strong and steady as stone, waiting for the wave to break. Dread and fervor for battle hummed in the moonlit air.

But the wave never broke. Sonja cast out her hearing and found that the vampires had stopped the charge. Sonja uttered a string of violent curses under her breath.

"He didn't fall for it. He won't pursue us into the forest," she said. Lucian scowled.

"We'll just have to meet him halfway, then," he snarled, bloodlust bright in his eyes. The Lycans howled in approval, some of the younger ones bursting into their wolf forms in their eagerness.

"Come, my brothers!" Lucian shouted, sprinting back onto the field. Sonja exhaled heavily through her nose, cursing their impulsive blood-hunger and ran at Lucian's flank. She could take a crossbow bolt without breaking stride and she didn't trust the moon-mad dogs to protect their leader.

Like a spark on a keg of pitch, battle exploded into pandemonium. Death Dealers were torn from their mounts to be savaged by human Lycans armed with axes and pitchforks, or horse and rider both slain under the claws and fangs of changed Lycans. Unearthly screams of shattered vampires and broken horses rent the air, rich red blood feeding the thirsty ground.

The three of them were the tranquil eye of the storm, three points of a triangle, three agents of change.

Viktor dismounted and casually drew dual swords.

He had eyes only for her husband and Sonja flinched at the look of loathing so complete, she wondered how Lucian could stand it.

"I shall greatly enjoy killing you, Lycan. You defiled my daughter."

Sonja's battered heart recoiled. Miracle of miracles, there was still a corner of her heart that still loved Viktor. Where he saw defilement, she saw love.

"I love her," Lucian said quietly, voice hushed with that tautly chained control.

"You killed her," Viktor shot back, finally looking at her. The loathing did not alter in his ice blue eyes as he uttered, "My daughter is dead."

Pain burned, kindling a raging inferno of anger.

"I'll show you dead!" Sonja screeched. Her blade met his with such force that blue sparks danced along the length of steel. Her body moved through the motions of battle, that lethal dance of parry and thrust, fist and foot. She didn't even notice the tears pouring down her cheeks.

**XXX**

His control lay in fragments on the ground, shattered to jagged pieces at the look of agony on Sonja's face, beautiful features wet with tears. The black-hearted _bastard_! Damn him to hell! The battle ebbed and surged around them, revolving around the axis of Sonja and Viktor.

And they were losing.

All of their moon-juiced strength was nothing against the vampires' superior training and armament. A couple silver bolts could buckle even the strongest Lycan. Both Xristo and Sabaas crawled naked on their hands and knees, poisoned by silver bolts riddling their backs and chests.

Lucian dropped his bloody swords. Sweet relief washed over him as he obeyed the moon's command and took to his fur. Human and wolf minds melded in perfect understanding and he loosed a mighty roar to the night sky, a call of anger and defiance. The remaining Lycans followed his lead, including Raze, who killed three Death Dealers with one sweep of his massive paw.

Keen ears heard the thunder of running feet, answering howls drifting up to the cool, bright moon. They burst from the trees in a flood of black and brown and silver—William's spawn—raw ferocity and power. His heart thrummed swift in exultation and he howled to the sky. One black wolf leapt, taking a silver-clad Death Dealer to the ground. Another pounced and together the two yanked back and forth at the body. Lucian could hear the bones and sinews snap and stretch as the unfortunate vampire screamed.

The Death Dealers before them and atop the wall did not have bolts enough to stop their overwhelming number_. By the moon, there must be at least ten score!_ Lucian's human mind marveled. The battle's tide had reversed and Lucian gleefully led Lycan and werewolf alike, biting and clawing and killing, feeling cool red blood anoint his limbs and muzzle in an offering to the moon. His human mind remembered Sonja.

He turned in time to see Viktor plunge his blade into her chest.

**XXX**

_**A/N: Dun Dun Dun! **_

_**Never fear dear readers, I will continue this. It's just too much fun exploring what could have been had Sonja lived. She's kinda awesome, isn't she?**_

_**R&R! **_


	6. Divergence: III

III

_I do not own Underworld or any of its characters. Duh._

_A/N: Lemon ahead! _

All he could see was her body limp on the ground, face blank and still. All he could smell was her blood gushing in ruby rivers from the wound in her chest. All he could feel was _rage_, a senseless red thing living inside him, one he always kept under tight control. Now he loosed it, his muscles stretching, lunging for the thin cold thing that had wounded the partner-of-his-mind-and-heart.

The cold thing lifted his hard-shining-fang, but Lucian would not be denied, he raked and slashed with clawed paws, lunging for the killing bite. The cold thing slipped from his grasp, swift and silent, heading for the stone den with the rest of his fleeing pack. Lucian dismissed the cold things. They were not important. They were weak and he would crush them. He gathered the still form of the partner-of-his-mind-and-heart. He whimpered and stroked her tangled black hair with unwieldy fingers. The delicate skin of her eyelids fluttered.

"Lucian," she slurred, barely a whisper. He whined, telling her he was listening.

"Shi—p. The—ship," she told him.

His human mind rushed ahead, seeing the _Demeter _in his mind's eye—grand and swift, and stocked with all the amenities of vampire royalty, including blood. In one word, Sonja had given him a way to save her, his brothers, and their cause. With that ship, they could travel anywhere in the world . . . even London. A rasping grunt of summoning to his brothers, and Lucian abandoned the battlefield, galloping toward the canyon that led to the sea, his precious burden cradled next to his heart.

**XXX**

Sonja swam in and out of waking, floating on the surface of dream and memory. She saw Father's face—so stern, so brilliantly angry. Had she done something wrong again? Helpless tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, a child's confused tears pining for acceptance and finding none.

_Father . . ._ she thought, _I_ _still wear it. The necklace you gave me. Don't you remember what you said? You told me I was the most precious thing in the world to you. Oh Father . . ._

Pain burst into riotous bloom in her chest, a lily gilded with tongues of flame and she remembered—the battle . . . and Father.

_Father_ had tried to kill her.

Exhausted by this revelation, she sank back into dreams. A big, hairy thing crouched over her, its nudging so gentle for something so large. Its tongue stroked her, hot and damp and smooth, slowly caressing every inch of her. Then its claws were in her hair, grazing her scalp in long gentle sweeps. Her body glowed under its attention, so warm and immediate she thought she felt its heartbeat within her.

A soft, anxious voice broke into her ruminations. A rough hand cupped the back of her head very gently.

"Drink a bit more, love. You'll feel better."

The cool rim of a cup bumped her lips. Obediently, she drank; tasting hot, rich blood laced with something black and bitter—laudanum? Would it quench the fire lily in her chest, douse those hungry flames?

Sonja drained the cup, too weak to even open her eyes. But the voice and hands that called her 'love' were so tender and careful. Her head was lowered to a downy pillow, the remnants of blood dabbed from her lips with a wet cloth. Already the restorative effects of rest and blood coursed through her body. The pain lily was still there, but the fire died and its petals shriveled. Humid warmth caressed her brow, then the soft press of lips. Stiff-soft beard tickled her skin.

_Lucian!_

Memory filled her like the sweet, hot rush of his seed inside her. The voice and hands and lips she knew so well, that cared for her so tenderly, that called her 'love.' Father didn't love her, but Lucian did. Her lungs were flaccid and empty. She took a breath, tasting blood, fear and Lucian's spicy scent.

"Loo—Loossh—uhn," she mumbled.

"Sonja," he whispered, with such reverence and relief, so like the first time they made love. His lips grazed her brow, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose.

"Oh my love, I thought I'd lost you. You were so still . . . you wouldn't move . . ." his voice broke, snapped into a shattered whisper.

"Oh Sonja," he wept. Sonja willed her hand to life, reaching blindly for him.

His warm, solid hand clasped hers, rough and hard from long years of labor. Their fingers laced and Lucian uttered a sound that could have been a sob, pressing his lips fervently to her captive hand. She wanted so much to look at him, kiss him, but strength eluded her. Instead she tugged at his hand, a twitch of arm encompassing the bed beside her. Lucian climbed into bed, a massive feather bed, from what it felt like. It was only when he touched her that she realized she was naked. The rough cloth of his shirt and leggings hid the delicious taut strength of his body and she clawed at the covering.

"Let me," he murmured and after a moment's struggle, he was as bare as she. Lucian pulled her into an embrace and Sonja nearly purred at the feel of his naked skin, his wiry body hair and blazing warmth. Limbs tangled and Sonja felt herself floating away on contentment and laudanum.

"Looove . . . you," she slurred.

"As I love you, my Sonja," he whispered into her hair before sleep washed over her.

**XXX**

When she surfaced again, her mind was clear, her senses keen. Still as weak as a newborn kitten, but at least she could think. Lucian was gone; the bed beside her still bore the indention of his weight, though the sheets were cool. She opened her eyes and realized from the subtle rocking that she was on the _Demeter_, in the plush chamber that had belonged to Viktor. She smiled grimly. He would die of an apoplexy if he knew she and Lucian had lain together in his bed.

There was a ewer and cloth on a nearby stand, the cloth grey-black with filth. Her surreal, semi-erotic dream of a gentle beast licking her was undoubtedly Lucian bathing her and washing and combing her hair. Sonja luxuriated, wallowing in the feel of satin sheets against clean, naked skin. Her hand followed the contours of her body, cupping the full weight of her breast, then dipping below to the center of her pain. The wound was closed, with only a small rough patch that would be healed in another day's rest. The pain lily had withered and died, but her body was utterly exhausted from this taxing effort of healing.

Her fingers slid down her belly. Once, it had been flat, nearly to the point of concavity, but now there was a small bulge. She pressed and found that tiny heartbeat, small but steady, untroubled by recent events.

"Hello there, little one," she murmured, buoyed by an absurd happiness despite the wild desperation of her situation.

She must have fallen back asleep, for when she woke again, night had fallen and Lucian stood in the light an oil lamp with his back to her, washing. The ship lurched and rocked, telling her they were under way. A cool, gentle breeze floated through the slotted porthole. Faintly, she could smell the meal of beef, bread and broth on the table, and heard the thud and murmur of footsteps and voices speaking an unfamiliar language on the deck above. But all these things were inconsequential compared to her very close, very naked husband.

His skin gleamed like wet bronze, the golden light picked out the faint reddish hue in his brown hair. He hummed tunelessly to himself and Sonja felt arousal pulse lazily through her watching as he washed and rinsed his hair and body. She admired the strength evident in the muscles of shoulder, back and thigh, the pale, vulnerable curves of his buttocks before he wrapped a linen towel around his lean hips. The perfection of his form was marred here and there with scars, the incised edges of his brand stark on his shoulder. He wrung the excess water from his hair and picked up a comb.

"Wait. Let me do that," she said. Lucian flinched as he turned, comb poised at his crown. His beard had been trimmed and shaped, making him look more refined, somehow, and a stranger.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he murmured. She waved away the words with a negligent sweep of her hand.

"I've slept enough." The hint of a smile, slightly shy.

"I should say so. You've been asleep for three days and nights. Do you remember anything?" she bit her lip.

"I remember the battle . . . and you. You took care of me," she said softly.

"Of course," he replied, his eyes wide pools of sweet, clean water. The moment was warm and tender in silence. She smiled and reached for the comb.

"Come here. Let me."

Lucian padded over to the bed, footsteps nearly soundless on the thick, dark carpet. He sat on the edge and handed her the comb. It was a beautiful thing, crafted of ivory with the image of a flying bird carved on the handle. The indentions were vibrant under her fingertips. Sonja sat up, tossing aside the coverlet. The room was warm and Lucian radiated heat like a banked furnace. Sonja began combing Lucian's hair, which now fell to just past his shoulders.

"How much do you know about sailing?" he asked after a moment.

"Not much, unfortunately. I can use the star charts and an astrolabe to navigate, but I'm a lost cause when it comes to knots or rigging." He snorted briefly in amusement.

"That's more than I can say. There isn't much need for a blacksmith or warrior aboard a ship. None of my brothers are very skilled either. So I used your father's silver to hire a crew. All good, experienced men by the looks of them."

"I'm sure they are," Sonja said, and noting the half-anxious tone, added, "I trust your judgment." She sealed the words with a kiss on his shoulder, over the slave's brand, a 'V' for Viktor. Lucian gifted her with a bright smile, some of the tension leaving him.

"What's our heading?" she asked, plucking at a knot at his nape with her fingers.

"England. London, specifically," he replied. His hair combed to damp silk, Sonja set down the comb and began kneading the tense muscles of his neck and shoulders. He growled softly in pleasure, arching his neck.

"To the new coven. An established fortress with weapons and a significant portion of Viktor's Death Dealers. Take London, the game changes," she stated proudly.

"Precisely. Oh Sonja yes, right there," he groaned and she obliging dug the base of her thumbs into a knot at the base of his neck. He grunted with each stroke of her hands and Sonja delighted in the warmth and solidness of him.

Wholly beautiful.

Wholly hers.

Sonja lost interest in politics, in the ship, in anything but him. She leaned close, breathing in his ear, pressing the aching weight of her breasts to his back. She slid one finger down his chest, hovering at his waist, where his erection peeked from the folds of the linen towel.

"Lucian," she purred, nibbling on the curve of his ear, "I want you."

That was enough.

He turned, eyes glowing indigo in the weak light. Concern was warm there, tempering the melting heat of desire with tenderness.

"Your injuries . . ."

"Aren't troubling me in the least. But it is aching a bit here." she touched herself.

With a broken groan, Lucian set upon her, his touches and kisses all the more devastating with their trembling care. His lips and tongue were magical, delving into the corners of her mouth with sweet persuasion. His hands molded to the planes of her body, coaxing her nipples to hard points and dancing maddeningly around the core of her ache. Sonja existed totally in the realm of sensation, mindless and still as Lucian kissed the column of her throat, nibbling her collarbones; laving the ripe weight of her breasts with his tongue with such focused hunger it seemed he wished to devour her whole.

The throb inside her intensified as he kissed her belly, nuzzling it, treasuring its tiny occupant. Then his mouth moved still lower and Sonja bit her lip hard to keep from screaming. Lucian played her body like a master musician, coaxing the tune he desired from her quivering flesh. His tongue stroked, plunged and circled, bringing her to the highest heights of pleasure and keeping her there. Sonja clutched his head, tangling in the cool damp weight of his hair, splayed in thick strands over her thighs. Climax washed over her in unending waves, any tiny stroke sending her over the edge into bliss again. She was sobbing with it, raw and naked under his power. Sonja tugged weakly at his shoulders.

"Lucian . . . please . . ." she whimpered.

Lucian rose to his hands and knees on the bed. His cock was thick and swollen, the broad head gleaming wetly. He entered her with one powerful thrust, ramming into her over and over, forgetting his trepidation in the mad fever of sex. Sonja's fingernails dug into his shoulders, urging him on, her lips pressed to the thundering pulsebeat at his throat. Her body tightened in the beginnings of release and Lucian groaned, back arched as he thrust once, twice and they dissolved together in a sweaty tangle of flesh.

**XXX**

Dreamy lassitude filled Lucian's limbs. His bones felt melted, his heart pounded like a drum within his chest, the echo of it throbbing in his cock, still embedded so deep inside. Her cool hands stroked his back, toyed with his hair, now drying in wild waves. The realization dawned that he didn't have to run or even move. There were no moon-shackles to make or Death Dealers to dodge. He could stay here, wallowing in the utter comfort of the feather bed and make love to his wife until he was too exhausted to continue. He smiled against the soft skin of her throat.

"What is it?" Sonja asked hoarsely, feeling the stretch of his lips. Lucian summoned the strength to lift his head and found her smiling at him, hazel eyes soft with love. By the moon, she was so heartbreakingly beautiful.

"I was just thinking that we have the pillows and sheets you wanted and we aren't even using them." In the wild rolling of their lovemaking, he and Sonja now lay crosswise on the massive bed, sheets and coverlet bunched at the footboard and the pillows knocked to the floor. Her chest vibrated with laughter and she flicked his ear affectionately.

"And the walls, my love? Are they thick enough to stifle my screams of rapture?" Lucian leaned forward and nipped her chin.

"We shall see. If any of my brothers blush upon looking at me, we'll know they're not up to standard. But time we do have." He laid his head on her chest, happiness rushing through his veins like strong, sweet mead, intoxicating.

"We have forever now, Sonja."

"Forever," she whispered a world of promise in that small word.

Lucian brow creased at a sudden thought. Old fears rose up, augmented by new ones. All the opulence they now rested in was stolen, and the years ahead were dark with danger and struggle. Would she miss her fine things, the life of privilege she had left? And what about what existed between them? Lucian did not doubt her love for him, but vampires were very sensual creatures with ever-evolving appetites. Would she tire of the same man year after year, century after century? Lucian rose onto his elbows.

"Will you tire of me, do you think?" she asked, addressing the ceiling, "perhaps the danger and desperation of the situation made me more attractive to you than I might be otherwise. And it _is_ a great inconvenience to you, what I am." Lucian stared at stubborn underside of her chin, incredulous.

"I was about to ask the same thing about you. I am only a blacksmith, after all. It will be many years before I can give you the fine things you deserve. As for how attractive you are to me . . . Lycans mate once and for life. I think I . . . bonded to you the moment I saw you. I will never want anyone else." Now she did look at him, hazel eyes swimming with tears.

"And I might? I _love_ you, you stupid mongrel! Do you think I cared for silk and trinkets while I had them? It doesn't matter."

"Neither does your being a vampire! I love _you_, you stubborn little princess!" Lucian watched anger and humor battle on the terrain of her features. Humor won out and a smile bloomed on her features, carving two adorable dimples in her cheeks.

"I'm glad we've come to terms," she giggled. He guffawed.

"I am too."

A long, liquid gargle emanated from his belly and Sonja's laughter broadened, filling the air with bell-like pealing.

"Hungry?" He grinned in lupine amusement.

"Starved," he growled, biting her breast gently. In response, she gently pushed his shoulders.

"We have forever, remember? Get up and eat before your food gets cold."

Lucian grumbled as he untangled himself from her and strode over to the meal left on the table. His appetite whetted by the intense effort of the last few minutes, he devoured the roast beef and bread with alacrity. While he ate, he watched Sonja rearrange the rumpled bed, admiring the taut grace of her movements and the pale beauty of her form.

She drew her hair over her shoulder and began combing the sleep-tousled snarls from it. Lucian glimpsed then livid scar in the center of her back where Viktor's blade had ran her through. The food turned to ash in his mouth. He would pay for that. Lucian would pay him back a hundredfold in blood for every drop he'd spilled of Sonja's.

Sonja sauntered over to him, smiling, her white skin glowing like pearls and opals.

"Messy dog," she whispered affectionately, plucking bread crumbs from his beard. She plucked a crust of bread from the table gingerly, as if handling a potentially poisonous substance.

"Do you think I should eat it?" Lucian frowned.

"Why on earth would you do that? If you're thirsty, I have blood here, freshly drained from one of slaughtered goats-" He reached for the chalice when her hand rested on his wrist, cool and smoothly callused from long years of swordplay. Lucian looked into her eyes, a deep clear hazel, striated with flecks of gold, like sunlight streaming through the deep shadows of a forest.

"I don't mean for me. For the baby. It's half Lycan, it's heart beats. Maybe it needs food as well as blood." He took Sonja's hands, folding them into his, touched by her selflessness. She loved their child already—with her fierce loyalty and unflinching bravery.

"We don't know what that would do to you, Sonja. You were born a vampire; your body might not be able to digest human food. It could kill you," he warned gently. Her beautiful face hardened.

"I'll do what I must so the baby will be healthy," she proclaimed fiercely, daring him to contradict her. Lucian smiled, cupping her face in his hands.

"My love, the baby grew quite healthily up until now, with you only drinking blood. I won't risk your life when the baby isn't quibbling over the menu."

The tension softened from her features and Lucian's heart glowed, delighted that she had asked his opinion and trusted his counsel. Lucian hurriedly gulped down the remains of his meal and pulled her into a loose embrace, now utterly replete in body and soul. Her eyes brightened at a sudden thought, hands cupping her belly.

"We should think of names. I like Xavier for a boy—it was the name of one of the human nobles. The man was an idiot, but I thought it was a fine, strong name."

"I like it too. What about Alexander? For Corvinus," Lucian suggested, feeling a small jolt of happiness at such a domestic thing as picking a name for his firstborn child.

They retired to the bed, curling up together under to coverlet. They argued over baby names, and simply talked, of things great and small, of plans and dreams until the oil lamp burned out and he fell into a blissful sleep.

**XXX**

The crew Lucian hired was very efficient and consequently, there was very little for the band of Lycans to do other than drink, gamble, and stay out of the way. Raze himself was uneasily reminded of the ship that had brought him all those leagues from his homeland, chained in a space too short for him to stand full height and too narrow for him to sit. Months passed thus, with him standing in his own filth. He shrugged his shoulders to shake off the memory. His small cabin below was the epitome of luxury compared to the cubby from his previous voyage or the miserable cell in the vampires' castle. The ship was large enough that each of Lucian's hundred men was allotted a cabin, or a hammock strung in a hold.

Raze was solitary by nature and spent much of his time peacefully contemplating the hypnotizing breaking of waves along the bow. Most of his brothers had spent several days prostrate over the railing, vomiting up their guts, but Raze was happily unafflicted. Sabaas, Xristo and several others were now engaged in a rowdy wrestling match down aft.

"Enjoying the view, my friend?" Lucian asked, leaning his elbows on the rail beside him. Raze smirked.

"Yes. It's about time you are. Sonja is recovered?" there was the slightest sardonic edge to his voice. Judging from the loose relaxation of his posture and the bounce in his stride, Lucian had spent a few hours in his wife's embrace. Lucian caught the tone and grinned mischievously, looking more a lovestruck youth than a man who measured his age in centuries.

"She is much better, thank you, and sends her regards. She took a look at the star charts last night and said we are about a week's journey from Constantinople." Raze nodded. He had grown up knowing how to navigate by the sun and stars; it had never occurred to him that as a slave Lucian would never have acquired the skill.

"After Constantinople, how far is it to England?" he asked. Lucian raked a hand through his cut hair, squinting up at the midday sun. The deep cerulean of the sea reflected facets of silver light in dazzling spangles, Raze felt immersed in the sweet salty tang of the air, the complex blues of sky and sea.

"Many, many leagues. It will take us maybe three months to cross the distance, barring storms."

Lucian turned and leaned against the rail, contemplating the twisted tangle of his men wrestling, the shouted jeers and encouragement, the coin changing hands.

"We sorely need training. It was by luck and sheer brute force that we survived the last battle. We will need more than that the next time we face Viktor."

Raze nodded.

"We will follow you to the ends of the earth," he said quietly. The sternness of Lucian's expression softened momentarily.

"I know you will. But I want them to accept _her_ as well. She is a part of me, Raze, my other half. Wound her and you wound me. As soon as the sun sets, we begin our training. Tell the men."

**XXX**

"I think it's a wonderful idea!" Sonja enthused, rising from bed clad in one of her father's robes, the cuffs sagging several spans past her fingertips and the hem trailing behind her. Concern wrinkled Lucian's brow.

"Are you sure, my love?" he asked anxiously, "I don't want you to strain yourself." Sonja smiled in sultry, catlike amusement.

"You didn't seem to mind the strain last night." She was charmed to see red color stain his cheeks.

"That was different," he grumbled. Sonja laughed and patted his cheek.

"As you wish. I'm fine, truly. It would please me to beat some manners into your barbaric brothers. Where is my mail?"

Lucian winced, an odd mix of embarrassment, shame and amusement vying for supremacy on his features. Sonja cocked a brow.

"What is it?" she drawled.

"Er, well, it was after the battle and I was still in my wolf form. You were just lying there bleeding and it was in the way so-" he paused and smirked apologetically.

"So?" Sonja prompted, biting back a giggle as she fixed an expression of mock irritation on her face.

"So I tore it off," he finished. Now Sonja did laugh in half-annoyed amusement.

"Oh Lucian. Are you saying you stripped me naked in front of all of your brothers with your bare hands?" Lucian chuckled reluctantly.

"Not all of them. Just Raze. He helped me bandage you. My hands were shaking too much to manage it."

Sonja's jaw clenched. By the Elders, what this man did to her heart! First tenderness, then annoyance, then amusement, then back to tenderness in the span of a few sentences. Lucian opened his arms and she fell into them, tucking her head under his chin.

"I was so afraid, Sonja. If I lost you, I-"

"Don't," she whispered. She couldn't bear the thought of losing him anymore than he could her.

"I am alive—at least as much as a vampire can be—and we are together and safe. Nothing else matters."

She pulled away, mustering a matter-of-fact tone.

"Our only problem now finding me something suitable to wear!"

A half hour later, Sonja strode out of the cabin clad in a sailor's shirt and baggy leggings, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows and the excess cloth of the leggings stuffed into her boots. With her bangs tied back and her sword at her hip, Sonja felt strong and capable. The ship was ablaze with light—lanterns hung along the rigging overhead and torches burned along the rail. The crew Lucian hired was below in the galley, eating and taking their ease, the helm tied to their current heading. Lucian's Lycan brothers stood in a ragged group, talking amongst themselves with their weapons in untidy piles on the decking.

A subtle signal passed from man to man and the conversation died. Soon, over a hundred pairs of eyes were watching her. With their beating hearts, noisy breathing and body odor, Sonja sometimes forgot that Lycans were also Immortals. Hints like this reminded her.

"It is Lucian's suggestion that I train you on this voyage. Stars know you need it," Sonja drawled.

"We managed well enough against your kind!" shouted a voice from the rear. The speaker was one of the younger Lycans—a landless serf until a few nights ago, now puffed up with his newfound power.

"It was a combination of the werewolves' help, the moon, and Lucian's leadership that kept you from getting slaughtered, not by any virtue of your skill," she pointed out. Sonja paced up and down the line, catching their eye, measuring them. She could tell who would wish to learn by their eyes, the fierce glitter of challenge and interest. Others glared at her with a hate that was engrained by long years of toil and degradation.

"Unfortunately for you, you will be fighting an enemy that is smarter, faster, better equipped, and, to a man, they have had decades to hone the skills of war while you have had weeks." Sonja pointed to a strapping man that had a solid six spans of height on her.

"You. Come. Show me what you can do," she invited him with a curt gesture to the empty expanse of deck. She pulled her sword from its sheath and set it aside. She spread her arms.

"I'm a woman. I'm unarmed. What will you do?"

The Lycan looked to Lucian.

_Good,_ she thought, _they trust him with their lives and look to his leadership without hesitation. But they need to be able to act without him dictating their every move. _

Sonja used her speed, slipping behind Lucian with barely a whisper of air. She gently brushed aside his brown hair, warm and soft against her fingers. Sonja dropped a kiss on the side of his neck.

"There. I've killed your leader. Avenge him."

The Lycan stumbled toward her with a half-hearted punch. Sonja dodged, knocked his feet from under him with a sweeping kick, and set her booted foot on his massive chest. The entire exchange had occurred in less than three heartbeats.

"You're dead," she told him, "First rule: never hesitate. Female vampires are just as dangerous as male—maybe more so." She pulled back her lips to expose her fangs.

"A vampire is never unarmed. Nothing has ever survived a bite from both species. One bite from a vampire means death—even to Immortals."

"Then how do we defeat them?" one despaired as Sonja helped the abashed Lycan to his feet. He pointed a thick finger at her.

"I saw you! Viktor ran you through the heart and here you stand, unharmed not four days later! Such a blow would kill a man!" His dark eyes glinted with fear and hate.

"Yes, you face enemies that can only be killed in a limited number of ways. If you can, take the head. If not, a limb. We don't regenerate."

"Your kind may be faster, but we are stronger. We would fight in our fur," Xristo crowed. Sonja crooked a finger.

"Come on then, pup. Show me."

He grinned savagely, stripping off his clothes. With a roar, he changed. Xristo crossed the distance between them with one stride and swiped at her with his paw. She ducked, snapping an arm out and seizing him by the thick throat. Her fingers exerted the slightest pressure, a mere suggestion of force.

"An Elder like Viktor could break your neck like a twig. Give me a few hundred years and I could too."

Xristo roared, clawing at her. His paws shred the cloth of her shirt as she danced away. A flex of foot kicked her sword into her waiting grasp. Sonja's eyes burned as they flashed blue, a dark thrill of excitement racing through her. A mantra rang in her head, fighting years of engrained instincts that had served her well as First of the Death Dealers: _Don't kill the dog—he's Lucian's brother. Don't kill him. Don't kill him._

Xristo did not seem to be restrained thus. The swipes of his claws whistled as they swung and missed, his jaws slammed shut with the click of bone as she evaded him. He wasn't pulling punches. Sonja pressed the pace; resting the pommel of her sword hilt on Xristo every time she found an opening. Rage made him sloppy.

"Dead," she snapped, touching the center of his furred, muscular chest. A snarl and twist of torso.

"Dead," she said again, now behind him. Xristo roared in outrage, throwing her to the ground. His neck arched for the killing bite.

Time to end this.

She stabbed up, swift and sharp, into the flesh of his shoulder. The silver in her blade made him shrink back into his original form. He pinned her in place with a drilling gaze, naked and gleaming with sweat over her. Anger—coupled with a confused, unwilling lust—burned there.

"Spar's over pup. Get off me," she said coolly, a slight mocking smile touching her lips. Xristo rose and limped back to the untidy pile of his clothes. Sonja rose and grinned at the awestruck Lycans. They would march to whatever tune she desired now.

Simple dogs, maybe now they recognized their alpha female.

**XXX**

It was near dawn before the training ended. By the moon, she was glorious. She had taken them in one-on-one spars, in groups, or even all together. With an enchanting mix of humor, charm and brutality, she exposed their weaknesses, expanded on their knowledge and beat them senseless. Sonja was like a force of nature, with all the strength, viciousness, and benevolence implied. He could only imagine what an impact her presence would make when they faced the vampires again.

Lucian himself was not exempt from the beatings. He smiled to himself, gingerly touching the bruise on his cheek from her fist. It gave him a bone-deep satisfaction that even in his weaker human form he could keep pace with her. The punch had been in pique when she realized she couldn't break his hold.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a strong right hook, my love?" he remarked as they entered their cabin. He paused to light the oil lamp. She didn't need it, but he did, at least until the sun rose. Sonja laughed softly, setting her sheathed sword beside his against the door.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a chin like granite?" she shot back, lightly shaking her right hand. Lucian captured her hand and kissed the abraded knuckles. The humor leaping in her eyes faded into tenderness. She pecked his bruised cheek very gently.

She turned and drained the chalice of blood left on the table with a very deliberate nonchalance. For such a prideful woman, she was dreadfully self-conscious around him, hiding what made her different as if it were an unfortunate condition. He knew she would rather dive into the ocean and feed than kill in front of him.

"How long have I loved you, Sonja?" he asked, leaning against the closed door. She wiped her lips with the edge of her sleeve, grimacing at the pinkish smear on the cloth.

"One hundred and twenty-three months and sixteen days," she answered with barely a heartbeat of thought, "why?"

"And how many times have I made love to you? How many times have I given my soul to you with the joining of our bodies?" he continued, ignoring her question. A twitch of shoulder pushed him from the door, and three strides closed the distance between them. His heart tightened, she looked so vulnerable, so sweetly naked even fully clad.

"A thousand times? Two thousand?" Lucian cupped her cheek, "And in all that time, have I ever once shrank from what you are? Have I showed one iota of disgust or shame?"

"No," Sonja whispered, her breath smelling of blood, "No, my love. You have treasured me. But that just makes it worse!" She shied away from his touch, yanking open the loose shirt to expose the mark of Viktor's sword, now completely healed between the twin curves of her pale breasts.

"I never questioned what I am—what child would among their own kind? It is only among your brothers that I realize how . . . how _unnatural_ I am. My heart doesn't beat. The sun burns me. Stars, even the baby growing in my womb is a revelation! I wish-"

"I don't," he interrupted, cupping her face between his hands, forcing her to look at him, "not for a second. I don't wish you to be anything other than you _are_. You are vampire, my love. The strongest and bravest of your species—with a kind and passionate heart that would not bend no matter how hard Viktor tried to make you otherwise. Do you love me any less because I change into a furry, slobbering monster when the moon is full?"

"Of course not! But-" she protested. Lucian silenced her with a kiss. He felt her soften, her mouth opening under the persuasion of his like a night-blooming flower.

"I love you, Sonja, my vampire bride," he whispered against her lips. Sonja sighed a soft laugh.

"I love you also, my furry, slobbering monster," she purred, tugging on a few of his chest hairs.

Arousal trickled from their linked mouths to lower regions. Lucian tugged the shirt from her trousers, the tails loose and open. Her skin was so soft under his wandering fingertips, her breasts fitting perfectly into his cupped palm.

"I want to try something," she murmured. His groin tightened in anticipation.

"Hmm? What might that be?" he rasped.

"First, strip," she commanded.

Grinning, Lucian complied, watching with rapt eyes as she followed suit. His throat closed at the sight of her.

So beautiful.

Long, slender limbs, taut with muscle. High, round breasts, adorned with dusky pink nipples. Black hair, a loose flowing mane in her head that matched the thatch between her thighs. She paused, admiring his bare form with a slight smile.

"I was wondering," she said huskily, sauntering over to the bed. Obedient to the sway of her hips and the subtle flex of her round buttocks, Lucian followed. Flabbergasted, he finally managed to clear his throat and ask, "W—What were you wondering?"

"How does a Lycan make love?"

Lucian frowned, confused.

"If you don't know that by now, my love, I'm not sure what more could convince you." She ducked her head in embarrassment.

"I know how _you_ do, Lucian. But . . . amongst yourselves was it ever . . . different?"

In the ten years of their affair, he and Sonja had never discussed previous lovers. It didn't seem to matter when he was pledged so completely to her. It never occurred to him that she might be curious. He chuckled softly.

"Well, we could try something _Lycan_, I suppose. Get on the bed. On your hands and knees."

Excitement glinted in her eyes and she obeyed, presenting her smooth backside with a subtle arch in her back. Lust blurred the edges of his vision and he made an inarticulate sound as he clamored up behind her, curving over her back. A few restless pulses of his hips and he found her, so hot and tight and wet. Lucian groaned as he entered her, pleasure warping his reality.

"Do I need to bark for authenticity's sake?" she whispered.

The suggestion was so ludicrous that he laughed aloud. It rolled out of him in waves, deep and appreciated. He nipped the back of her neck.

"If you do, I'll never forgive you," he threatened lightly. She laughed with him, sending fluttering clenches of inner muscle around his phallus. He grunted.

"That feels _good_. I have to keep you laughing. Uh . . . let me think . . . what did the priest say to the altar-boy?" he joked. Sonja buried her face in the coverlet, smothering snorts of laughter.

"How many Byzantines does it take to light a lantern?" he pressed, chuckling himself. She glared up at him, eyes crescents of amusement. Her white teeth flashed in the dim light.

"Clown," Sonja teased, arching her back, taking him deeper. Lucian snatched in a sob of breath.

"Jester," she muttered, thrusting her hips.

Lucian pressed his face into her fragrant hair, whispering her name as he thrusted. With the novelty of the position and the convoluted foreplay, it wasn't long before the pleasure mounted. Lucian was lost in the music of it, the squeak of the bedframe, the wet slap of their flesh coming together, the sawing of his breathing and the pleading fragments of words falling from her lips. His heart beat so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. The hot, slippery clutch of her body drove him mad. Climax overtook him in a wild combustion of pleasure, his seed spurting. Her body clenched and flexed in the same instant, wrenching, sobbing spasms of mindless euphoria. Their trembling arms gave way and Lucian fell facedown on top of her, too numb with bliss to move.

"How's that for different?" he rumbled, biting the curve of her ear gently.

"Woof," she replied.

**XXXXX**

_Like it? Hate it? REVIEW!_


	7. Divergence: IV

IV

_I don't own Underworld or any of its characters. Though I wouldn't mind having Lucian as my love slave. _

_Warning: Violence, sex, profanity, you know, the usual. _

**XXX**

Viktor yanked back on the rein of his horse outside the stonecarver's home. Soren and Kraven followed suit. Viktor cocked his head to one side, eyeing his newly turned regent. As a human, he had single-handedly overthrown the lord he had sworn an oath to, all by ambition and cunning.

But, as with both human and vampire, betrayal begot more betrayal. Kraven's enemies had stabbed him multiple times and left him to die. Only then did Viktor offer him immortality, on the condition of loyalty. The narrow-eyed, roughly handsome man agreed. Kraven stiffened under his scrutiny, shifting black eyes glancing away. Viktor repressed a sneer.

A man like Kraven, for all his cunning, was a weakling and a coward. Men like him were easily manipulated.

"I am thirsty," Viktor drawled.

"There are horses in the stable, my lord," Soren said helpfully.

Viktor breathed in slowly, smelling the heavy draft horses pacing restlessly in their stable, sensing the monsters outside. The wind shifted, bringing the smells of the house to him—the meaty clicks of beating hearts and the salty smell of human. His fangs lengthened, his eyes burned. The day of the stonecarver's reckoning had come. No one who knew of William's prison should live to see Markus' reign.

"No," he said softly, "my palette craves some . . . variety."

He sent Kraven and Soren to rile the horses; their terrified squeals woke the house and the air with filled with sharp tang of fear. The modest home boasted two floors, built solidly of timber. Viktor kicked in the barred door, the shouted demands faraway and unintelligible, like the buzzing of bees. Two young men, presumably the stonecarver's sons, ran toward him, armed with cudgels.

A dark, pulsating energy surged through him and he thirsted not only for the blood that would sate his hunger, but for violence, death, _pain_. The image of Lucian projected onto the face of the eldest boy, and Viktor seized the boy and _tore._ Bone crunched, unholy screams shattered the air. A fine mist of red diffused in the air as the broken halves of his body fell to the ground, his organs a slick pile. Epithets fell from the other's lips, his face a mask of bitter rage.

_Good._

Viktor's hand shot out, grasping an arm and blocking the blow before it was thrown. A deft squeeze shattered the fragile bones. Viktor's lips parted revealing his fangs. An instant of terror swallowed the anger in the boy's face and Viktor bit his throbbing throat and drank, tasting its heady flavor on his tongue. Blood dribbled down his chin as the stonecarver descended, his wife behind him. Her screams lit some wicked joy in him. He smiled.

He floated like an evil mist through the house, killing and drinking and tearing. The little ones were the sweetest, like the dessert course of a fine meal. Viktor wiped his face fastidiously, disliking the stickiness of congealing blood around his lips and chin. The death-squeals of shattered animals told him that Kraven and Soren were slaking their thirst. The smile that touched his lips was cruel.

A small impact struck his chest. He looked down and found the stonecarver's youngest child clinging to his middle. Poor lamb, he would give her the mercy of a quick, painless death. He had drunk his fill and the other girls' shrill screams hurt his ears. She looked up at him, and the killing strike shifted into a gentle caress on her cheek. Her eyes . . . a soft, rich brown. Her hair, a cap of black silk. His grieving heart, bloated with blood and violence, melted. A name echoed in the back of his mind, one he would never speak again. The promise of beauty was stamped into the childish shapes of her face, a softer shadow of the stark, strong planes that burned in his mind's eye.

_Sonja._

"What is your name, child?" he crooned, stroking her hair. Those brown eyes were brimming with tears, wild with fear, but she answered with barely a quaver of voice. A brave little lady.

"S—Selene."

**XXX**

Their time on the ship settled into one of peace and learning in the following weeks. Sonja led the Lycans in training every night, and they improved by leaps and bounds. The _Demeter_ passed through Constantinople and dismissed the crew and hired a new one, this time bound for Crete.

Lucian drowsed on the deck out of the way, lazy in the Mediterranean sun. He knew he must tell his brothers about Sonja's pregnancy; soon it would be too obvious to hide under loose clothing. A part of him wanted to crow to sun how proud he felt, how deliriously happy he was. He listened idly to the thump and swish of the crew as they adjusted the sails to catch the strong headwind. Their voices undulated in a strange quadra-lingual patois like the cawing of gulls, unintelligible to him save for the odd word. Sonja, fluent in several dozen languages, did the bartering and translating for them.

A small pang of worry wormed into his heart. Being the only mixed race bonded pair among Immortals did lend to some difficulties: most of them centering on the nature of the child growing apace in his wife's belly. The natural human pregnancy lasted nine months, the standard vampire pregnancy six. With Sonja now more than five months pregnant by their best estimation, Lucian began to fret about the timing. There was so much they didn't know. What could he do, if something went wrong? Sonja's own mother had died giving birth to her and Lucian knew nothing of his own parentage.

"That she may be safe, her and the child," he murmured under his breath.

Lucian rose and stretched, joints popping. He sauntered over to the railing and leaned his elbows on the sun-warmed wood. The late afternoon sun shone on the waves, creating a dancing pathway of beaten gold to the horizon. Lucian breathed deeply of the fresh, salty air, relishing its cold spray on his face. Sweet freedom permeated every fiber of his being. He knew he had to relish these moments of peace. As soon as they made landfall, the war would start afresh. Some of his brothers relished the thought of battle, even lusted for it. Lucian did not. At his core, Lucian was a peaceful man. He was only moved to violence when provoked. And oh, had Viktor provoked him.

He turned away from the burning anger smoldering in his belly, instead thinking of their heading. Sonja had showed him the maps. She pointed out various countries and their borders. Together, they weighed the options. By sea, it would take at least another month to reach England, and with autumn storms looming on the horizon, it made that option more daunting. But on the other hand, if they were to make berth in a city—like Marseilles or Venice—it would remove the _Demeter_ as one of their resources and drastically chip away at their lead. For the coup of England's coven to be successful, it was imperative that the Lycans reach the castle before Viktor's runners. Lucian grimaced at the thought of an arduous siege.

They _had_ to reach England first.

Frenzied shouting broke into his reverie and he turned to find the crew darting to and fro like bees in a bottle. Quickly, he scanned the skies and saw no evidence of a storm. He grabbed the arm of a deckhand and demanded in his mangled Greek, "What has happened?"

"There, idiot!" the man shouted, pointing. Lucian turned and saw a massive ship darting under sail and row toward them, its crew milling like ants on the deck.

"A Macedonian pirate vessel! She means to board us!"

Lucian sprinted toward the stern where his brothers employed their peacetime pursuits of gambling, sleeping, or repairing clothing or weapons.

"Form up, brothers! A pirate vessel is about to board us," he said calmly. Ecstatic whoops and howls filled the air. Inwardly, Lucian sympathized. Centuries of nightly labor followed by months of inactivity chafed on the nerves.

"It's about time there's some action!" one crowed. Each found a weapon and awaited Lucian's order.

"Now, these are only humans, easy fodder for an Immortal," he cautioned, "but try not to move too fast. And by the sweet moon, do _not_ change! Guard each other's backs, and the crew. We should have this in hand." Infectious joy blazed from man to man and Lucian accepted the sword Raze offered him.

"Form a perimeter."

The pirate ship yanked up its oars, turning aside sharply as it did so. Arrows flashed through the air, most missing their mark. Boarding ramps slammed into the Demeter's decking and with a battle cry, pirates flooded across.

**XXX**

Sonja's eyes snapped open. Barely a heartbeat found her on her feet, head cocked to hear the ruckus outside. She recognized a garbled, accented Greek in the expletives and shouts.

A battle!

A quick glance out of the porthole confirmed her suspicions.

She took one long stride toward the door, pausing with her hand on the handle. Curses flew from her lips. The bloody sun was still up! The thread that connected her to Lucian was bright and strong, vibrating slightly with excitement. He was alive, uninjured, and enjoying himself from what she could sense. A slight smile touched her lips. Aside from the nights where she beat them senseless in training, the Lycans had very little to do and were no doubt restless. A good bloody fight should take the edge off.

A pity Sonja couldn't join in the fun!

She rocked back on her heels, body humming with the desire to join the battle. Footsteps alerted her to pirates looting the ship, and in a whisper of movement, she was waiting at the door, listening to the meaty thudding of their hearts—six men by her count. Her fangs lengthened in anticipation. Muddling stomping and whispered Greek reached her ears, their salty human scent pungent in her nostrils. Close.

Very close.

The door opened, letting in a stream of jaundiced sunlight from the stairwell behind them. Sonja waited, breathless as the men filed inside, eyes avaricious at the opulence they found. She sank to the ground, huddling into a ball, mimicking a terrified young woman. A whimper added effect and captured their attention.

"Look what we have here!" one exclaimed in heavily accented Greek. Swarthy and dark, his furry paunch of a chest was adorned with an odd mix of necklaces and scraps of cloth that rattled as he moved. The other pirates were similarly attired.

"P—please . . . leave me alone!" Sonja stuttered, widening her eyes in a perfect imitation of fear even as her throat tightened with painful thirst. Pig's blood paled in comparison to the heady flavor of a human's. A small presence in her mind recoiled in disgust, but she was a thirsty vampire, unchained by pity or morality.

"It's all right. Who would want to hurt such a pretty face? Give me some love," drawled the closest man, his friends snickering and egging him on.

"Please," she said again, cupping her swollen belly, "I'm with child." even as she warded them off with an outstretched hand, inwardly she thought, _Closer._ _Come closer._

Sonja could easily read the lust in their eyes and their words as they took in her form, clad only in one of Lucian's shirts. The threat of rape and murder were enough to silence the tiny voice and Sonja lunged, sinking her fangs into the pulsing artery in the pirate's throat. His screams delighted her, his blood sliding down her throat like hot wine. She had time to swallow three gulps of blood before his friends reacted with cries of 'Demon!' and 'Monster!'

She pushed aside the dying pirate and flicked a finger in a welcoming gesture toward the others, blood cooling on her lips and chin as she smiled.

**XXX**

Lucian grunted as he heaved a dead pirate over the railing to join dozens of his fellows floating in the water. The ship was gone, having retreated when the fight proved too costly. Among Lucian's men and the ship's crew, there was only a smattering of injuries compared and none of those injuries proved serious. Lucian smiled to himself. His brothers took Sonja's lessons to heart. They fought as a cohesive unit, guarding each others' backs with cool efficiency. They almost moved like vampires.

Night had fallen, and the causeway door flew open. Sonja strode out, swathed in one of Viktor's cloaks, its voluminous length effectively concealing the mound of her pregnant belly. A rakish spray of blood painted her face and neck.

"Sonja!" he cried, leaving one of the crew to finish disposing of the dead pirates. He grasped her shoulders and made a great show of inspecting her for injury, though he knew she could dispose of two hundred pirates without any effort.

"How many?" he whispered, before grasping her in a tight embrace. Sonja, playing her role, swooned against him, whimpering and making inarticulate noises for the benefit of the concerned crew. Her lips pressed a gentle kiss against the side of his neck.

"Six," she crooned, "I threw them out of the stern window." He peered under the cloak and saw what remained of his blood-soaked shirt. She grinned sheepishly.

"Couldn't find another bloody shirt." Lucian framed her face between his hands, the sweet frisson of humor fizzling in his blood.

"That one looks bloody enough, darling." Her teeth flashed white and sharp when she smiled.

"Clown," she teased, and kissed him. He meant it to be a gentle kiss of greeting and reassurance, but with Sonja, a kiss was never just a kiss. It spun on, of mutual hunger and completion, seeking and finding. Discreet murmurs and chuckles reminded Lucian that they had an audience, and he pulled away. When he opened his eyes, Sonja's smiling face filled his vision.

**XXX**

Xristo felt black hate twist in snarled knots in his stomach. Every kiss, every saccharine glance roused a deep and visceral revulsion in him. Viktor's little princess, leading their brother Lucian around by his cock, her talons sunk deep into his balls. She had bewitched him, that much was certain. Why else would he risk his life going back to free her from her father? Was her confinement even true? Every idiot knew how Viktor treasured his daughter. Mayhap he let her pretend to escape and lead them on a merry chase across the continent for the sheer sport of it!

Why else would Xristo wake aching from lust-filled dreams of her, those hazel eyes beckoning him to his death like a siren's song?

Maybe she truly loved Lucian . . . maybe she didn't. But even if the love she claimed was real, how long until she grew tired of the game and discarded Lucian, leaving his brothers to pick up the shattered pieces of him? He glanced at Sabaas and nodded.

It was time to free their leader from her poisonous influence.

Once and for all.

**XXX**

Crete was misery incarnate. Its ports were empty, its streets barren and dirty, burned houses lining the streets. The soul had been sucked out of Crete by a rider on a pale horse, and the one that followed him—Death, the Black Death by name.

Lucian frowned at this sad picture, motioning for Raze to follow. The large black man had seen firsthand the ravages of the Black Death, the wailing women and the slow, crumbling death that its victims succumbed to. He was, therefore, rather wary of making port in Crete, the protection of his Immortal blood notwithstanding. But regardless of his reservations, they needed supplies, and a new crew. The Constantinople crew had disembarked and already sailed off with a new ship, eager to leave the crumbling ruin of Crete behind. Lucian squinted up at the sun, noting its position. If they hurried, maybe they could complete their business and shove off with dusk's receding tide.

**XXX**

The cabin had reached an ungodly temperature. Normally, Sonja was not unduly bothered by extremes in temperature, but as her skin thinned and tautened, she hated the heavy walls that blocked the breeze, and the sun that impinged on her freedom. She scowled at the ceiling, unable to find relief from the heat in sleep or taste the salty air on deck because of the thrice-cursed sun.

The passing burr of male voices reached her ears and she focused on the syllables of Greek, translating the simple words into Aramaic, Romany, Latin, and a dozen others just to pass the time. Sonja missed Lucian. He would have some ridiculous joke to make her laugh, or better yet, he would work off some of Sonja's crackling energy with lovemaking. Pregnancy had whetted her already razor-sharp sexual appetite, and of late, they had skipped nightly training altogether to be with each other. Sonja laid her hands flat on the mound of her belly, watching the flesh surge and stretch at the drowsy movements of its occupant.

At least one of them was happy.

The discontent mellowed at this silent moment with her little one, her miracle. Her misgivings over its health had quieted. Of course it was healthy! Why else would its heart grow so strong that she thought it could beat for both of them? Why else would it move at her touch as it did now, as if in greeting?

"Hello there, little one," she whispered. The sun now climbed to its zenith, and Sonja curled into a ball, cradling her precious burden and floated effortlessly into sleep.

It was their stink that woke her, and the sawing cadence of their breathing. She only had time to open her eyes before hands fell upon her. She surged up, only to find multiple pairs of strong hands pinning her wrists and ankles. Awareness pierced the blind fog of reactive fight and she recognized the smells, the leering faces.

Gyorg. Sabaas. Xristo. A half a dozen of the older ones.

_Strong. _

They held her so easily.

"What . . .?" No more had the word left her lips than her sleep-addled wits confronted the startling reality of what was happening.

By the stars, they meant to kill her.

_They meant to kill her baby!_

Fear flashed through her veins like wildfire.

"No! Please no!" Her pleas fell on deaf ears, though she thought she saw a flicker of sympathy in Sabaas' eyes. Anger nipped at its heels, rich with indignance and betrayal. How many weeks had she spent with them, training and fighting with them? How many times must her trust be betrayed?

She tried reason.

"If you kill me, Lucian will destroy you." A hard blow across the face made her ears ring.

"Shut up, bitch! At least when you're dead, Lucian will be free from your spell!" Xristo spat. Grunts of agreement as they heaved her off the bed and started toward the door. Her stomach dropped. They meant to throw her into the sun. Mercy and reason failed her.

Sonja began struggling again in earnest, unleashing the inner demon, eyes blurring, fangs flashing. One hand strayed too close and she sank down on it, tasting the hot metallic tang of blood. An older Lycan, whose name she didn't know fell back, howling in pain. A mite of satisfaction filled her even as blows of fist and foot rained down from all sides. It would be a long and slow death for him. Sonja tried to twist and curl around her belly in an effort to protect her baby as dry snaps announced breaking bones and she scented the sharp heat of her own blood. When she lay in a pain-laced stupor, they cursed and spoke over her as if she were simply a cumbersome load, lugging her toward the stairs.

"There, around the corner!"

"Gods, this is heavy!"

"Damn, Gyorg, easy on your side!"

"_Don't do this!" _Sonja screamed with all the power of her voice.

"Shut her up!" Xristo snapped. A band of leather descended and Sonja jerked and thrashed to avoid it. Hard hands held her head immobile, and she found Sabaas' eye.

"I'm with child! Ple-"the gag muffled her sentence into an unintelligible gargle. The gag did nothing to inhibit her hearing as expletives thickened the air, a vicious invective of surprise and disgust.

"Did she say _'pregnant?'_ Gods above, Xristo! Is such an abomination possible?" Gyorg wondered aloud.

Abomination? Her baby?

Sonja's muscles tightened, preparing to leap free of their grasp when Xristo rested the tip of a knife on her belly.

"Move and I'll kill it," he said softly. Tears of pain and outrage flowed down her cheeks and she lay limp as a trophy stag between their hands. Maybe, if Xristo's hand strayed, she would have one last desperate chance to save her baby.

If not . . .

If not, its heart beat. It was warm and strong.

Maybe it would live even as she burned to ash around it.

_Oh Lucian . . . I love you. _

** XXX**

Lucian paused mid-sentence from his negotiations with a captain, a subtle twitch irritating him. The thread that connected him to Sonja was ringing, burning with strain. Comprehension struck him.

She was going into labor!

Lucian leapt to his feet, nearly disrupting the table. He garbled out an apology and took one long stride toward the harbor. He paused, torn. If he left, they would be stuck in Crete another night trying to find a crew to take them Marseilles. Labor was such a long, drawn out business, from what he was told . . .

"Raze!" he called, summoning his friend from where he stood, gnawing on a kebob of vegetables and beef. He had no Greek, and his size and bass voice unnerved some of the sailors.

"Something's amiss. I think Sonja is in labor. Go back and stay with her until I finish here." Raze's brown eyes popped wide and he swallowed hard, but nodded.

"Don't dawdle," he growled, and loped off toward the harbor.

**XXX**

Raze was still grumbling to himself as he mounted the ramp onto the ship. The deck looked so empty and forlorn with the sails battened and without the quick, scurrying, foul-mouthed crew. He cocked his head, hearing the faint snatches of words and rough male laughter from where his brothers lounged in the sun—completely unconcerned about the Death that stalked Crete. A shudder racked his massive shoulders. He remembered all too clearly the wasted faces and hideous sores covering the bodies of those afflicted.

It was not a thing he wanted to repeat.

His long strides crossed the deck and his hand closed on the causeway door when he heard it.

Sharp sounds of struggle, scuffling feet and shouted orders. Not labor, but battle!

Raze tore open the door and the sun highlighted the upturned face of Gyorg, his neck snapped, dark eyes blank and staring. Raze stepped gingerly over him and squinted into the semi-darkness. His eyes slid into focus and he moved without thinking, a fist smashing into the face of the hapless Lycan holding Sonja's leg, dragging her toward the golden pool of sunlight. He didn't register faces or expressions, words or even blows.

His only thought was getting her free.

She looked as she had before after Viktor stabbed her—deathly still and limp. _Muzzled_ like an animal!

A dark fist struck with all the ponderous grace of a rockslide, striking down another. The remaining Lycans dropped their burden and turned to fight him off. Raze punched hard and square, one into the belly, doubling one over. Another backhand snapped a neck with its stunning force. He turned and found one trying to run. Blood pounding, he pursued.

"Wait! Raze, for star's sake _stop_! It's me! It's Sabaas!" Raze paused, breath hissing past his lips.

"Why should I stop? You're trying to kill Sonja!" he rumbled. Sabaas' face twisted into a mask of agony and regret.

"I know. I'm sorry for it. It's just that she's one of them! A bloody vampire!"

"She's is Lucian's wife. She's saved all our asses several times over. _She's carrying his child!"_ Raze howled. Sabaas' eyes went wide.

"_It's Xristo! Stop him!"_

Raze turned to see Xristo dragging Sonja into the sun, his face a mask of gloating triumph.

"No!" Raze howled, diving.

A silver sword tip, gleaming with blood, protruded from Xristo's torso. Raze yanked Sonja's hissing body from the sun in the same moment that Lucian's face, frozen in a rictus of such monumental rage, pressed against Xristo's cheek.

"It is only because you are my brother that I give you a quick death. _Die_, Xristo, with the knowledge that all your hate was in vain."

Raze was filled with a perverse pity at the look of betrayal on Xristo's face before he slumped into a heap on the floor, dead. Lucian dropped Sonja's sword and hurried to her side, trembling.

"Is she dead?" Sabaas asked, fox-like face tight with anxiety.

"If she is, I will replicate every second of her agony on you, a hundredfold," Lucian hissed, his voice sharp-edged and cruel—like Viktor's.

A quick slice of a discarded knife opened his wrist and blood welled in the cut. Lucian pressed his bleeding wrist to his wife's slack mouth. A stream of red dribbled in. Raze hissed in sympathy at the sight of her burned arm, the skin gone, muscle and tendon clearly identifiable. His stomach turned at the smell of charred meat. Raze was afraid to touch her, and feel the broken chips of bone grind together. She was in a bad way . . . how much could a vampire take?

He went limp with relief as her throat flexed.

She swallowed!

Good!

He silently willed her to drink of the life-giving liquid pouring from Lucian's wrist.

"Drink, my love, Drink." Lucian crooned. Her hands floated up, seizing hold of Lucian's arm as she drank. Lucian grunted in pain, jaw tight, but Raze knew he would give every last drop of blood to have her open her eyes. It was working, like magic, skin and tissue grew. With each gulp, her arm looked less like a charred stick, bones snapped back into place. Raze sliced his wrist and nudged him aside.

"I'm bigger. I can loose more blood than you," he explained. Her eyes flew open as Raze's blood fell into her mouth. Gratitude warmed the frigid ice, concealing a fear so recently evaded. Dimly, Raze heard the groans of the Lycan Sonja had bitten and was fiercely proud of her strength. Raze had just begun to feel lightheaded when Sonja pulled away. He frowned. Her arm was still laced with angry red patches.

"Drink some more, love," Lucian whispered, offering his own wrist. Sonja sank back and managed a smile.

"I'm fine, Lucian. I couldn't drink another drop. The rest will heal when I sleep." Lucian's gaze flicked to Sabaas. To his credit, the old Lycan did not quiver or beg under that steely gaze.

"What would you have me do with him? I will kill him without a thought," he rasped and Raze saw Sabaas' jaw tighten.

"No," Sonja said, rising to a seated position, "no. He didn't want to be a part of it. When I told him I was pregnant, he stopped." Tension still rang from Lucian, the dark, violent urge to slaughter and kill in wild, bloody vengeance. He only softened under Sonja's gentle hand cupping his cheek.

"Forgive him, my love. I have. He was no different than Viktor or Xristo, blinded by hate. But unlike Viktor, he has seen his erring foot step." Lucian rose to his feet, a figure carved of marble. He glanced at the carnage surrounding them. His eyes softened infinitesimally.

"Clean up this mess, Sabaas. Now."

Sabaas scurried to obey.

XXXX

_A/N: A short chappie, I know, but my life has been running off out of control. I will continue. Maybe a few more reviews would spur me on . . . ._

_R&R_

_FieryPen37_


	8. Divergence: V

**V**

_I don't own Underworld or any of its characters._

**xxxxxxx**

After the sad, faded glory of a sacked Constantinople, Lucian was impressed with Venice's interwoven web of canals. Though the water stank with raw sewage, grand buildings soared above at unimaginable heights, stunning in their clean beauty. The _Demeter_ lorded over the other ships in the harbor, though only by the slimmest of margins. Venice was a port of great influence, a state in its own right, even sovereign over another country—the sad ruin of Crete.

The gondola poling its way through the murky waters was nauseatingly _slow_, especially when his wife was going into labor. Sonja's breaths were long and careful, her hand tight around his. The fear in her eyes made him desperate to help her—futile and pathetic as that desire was. All of her contained energy shivered through him. His eyes grazed over the walls looming over them and in one wild instant, he considered changing and carrying Sonja to safety by leaping over Venice's close rooftops.

"I'll pay you double if you go faster," Lucian snarled, gripping the gondolier's arm with bruising fingers. The man blinked vacantly at Lucian's Romanian. Cosmopolitan and worldly though it was, Venice disdained the feudal rasping of Balkan tongues.

"Please hurry," Sonja whispered through clenched teeth in the correct Latin dialect.

Compassion chased at the heels of comprehension and the gondolier poled faster, crooning a soft love song that soothed the edges of Lucian's burning urgency.

Sabaas and five-and-twenty Lycans followed in a packed barge laden with the choice bits of Viktor's treasures. He and Sonja had spent hours shaping and refining their plan, and this was the master stroke. While Lucian, Sonja and a small force continued to England over land, Raze and the rest of their brothers would re-supply _Demeter_ and run the gauntlet of autumn storms on the sea route. Lucian's small army simply could not afford to lose a resource like the _Demeter_. If the wind was with them, all would be well.

Their baby, apparently, would not wait until they had safely taken the London fortress. Sonja's hand clenched, grinding the bones of Lucian's hand together as a strong contraction rippled through her. He gritted his teeth against the pain of her grip, smiling grimly to himself. The baby had cooperated in some fashion—it had waited until sundown. The vague fear that had gnawed like a fox at his innards had exploded into something bordering on panic. They had endured so much. Would he lose her now after they had fought by fang and claw to be free?

At last, the gondola docked and tossing some coins to the man, Lucian swept Sonja into his arms and flew into the deserted inn.

**XXX**

Sonja knew only the barest of details regarding childbirth. In her two hundred years, she had heard of only one vampire couple conceiving a child. The female had spent the six month gestation pleasantly immured in her castle, allowed to dine on human blood whenever she wished for the baby's strength.

In comparison, Sonja had thought pain to be a fair trade for such a cosseted existence. Sonja was a warrior, a vampire of high rank, and after a fairly eventful life, she thought herself immune to such petty complaints as pain.

_She was wrong. _

The deep, aching agony in her womb, her distended abdomen shivering and clenching with contractions frightened her in the magnitude of its pain. It ebbed, at last, and Sonja felt the reverberating heart throbbing within her urgently. Her hand hovered over the mound of her swollen belly, stroking its tiny occupant. So warm! Its heat throbbed like a living furnace. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck, dampened the linen shift she wore.

_Easy, little one, _she bade silently, _take your time._

Dimly, she heard Lucian and Sabaas exchange terse words, but she no longer cared. The world was empty save for her and her baby. It was they two, locked in such painful, bloody effort, that would win the day.

She couldn't even entertain the thought of loss.

Sonja grunted in discomfort. The wave was gathering, a typhoon of pain. She steeled herself against it, ready. The agony churned deeper, broader, _hotter_. She was overwhelmed, overtaken, smashed against rocks of inactivity. A cry defied her will, tore loose from her lips and rang sibilant in the airless room.

Control was a fading memory.

Relief was an illusion.

Sonja lost count of how many times the waves rose and fell. She was drowning in it. Lucian knelt at the foot of the bed, between her spread legs. Snatched words of encouragement reached her ears and she was unsure of whether to be grateful or murderous. What did he know of this horrid burning pain?

_I swear by the stars, he will never touch me again! _Sonja howled. She must have said this aloud, in a particularly scathing tone, for his face was startlingly pale. He looked so afraid, so chained by helpless misery . . .

His fears matched her own, and Sonja couldn't spare a breath to comfort him.

A crushing weight rested on her chest, a burning urge to _breathe_.

Her lungs were suddenly starved of air. She gulped in greedy breaths, the beating heart inside her growing fainter and fainter.

_NO! _

Sonja bore down with all of her strength, the wooden headboard screeching and shattering to splinters under the grip of her fingers.

"I can see him, Sonja! Keep pushing!" Lucian shouted. Sonja obeyed, the pain cresting in a wild, foaming breaker crashing against the shore.

Then, like a miracle, he cried.

He _was_ a miracle. Smirched with blood and screeching like a banshee, Sonja thought he was the most beautiful thing in the world. Lucian stared at the child they had made together with the same dumb awe, tears standing in his blue eyes.

"Our son," he crooned, gently touching the tiny, tightly furled fist.

"_Xavier,"_ she whispered.

**XXX**

"No, Lucian. I forbid it," Sonja said, her stern tone only barely concealing the rabid fear behind it.

Lucian bit back his frustration, tension ringing from the line of his shoulders. The way she clutched Xavier, as if he would rip him from her arms, grated at the worn edges of his patience.

"Sonja," he hissed through clenched teeth, "I am not suggesting that we throw him into the sun and watch what happens."

"I know that," Sonja snapped, full lips set in a mutinous line, a long pale hand restlessly stroking their son's brown curls. She was at her most intractable when the sun soared so high, but in the cool darkened cavern of their carriage, they were perfectly safe.

Lucian's gaze softened as Xavier looked up at him and gave him a toothy grin. He had his mother's hazel eyes, and her charming dimples. Xavier grew quickly, in the fashion of both races of Immortals, and now appeared to be close to a year in age when they'd departed northward from Venice not four months ago. In both appearance and manner, Lucian saw facets of both himself and Sonja.

Joy unfolded slowly within him, a dawning wonder at the miracle of their child.

And with that joy came an almost insatiable curiosity. Sonja, however, was unwilling to test the limits of their son's abilities. It became a major source of contention between them—spoiling an otherwise peaceful time of simple travel.

"What if he is like me, Sonja?" Lucian said softly, "I would not deny him the sunshine—to feel its warmth on his face."

An extraordinary expression of longing flitted across her beautiful features. It pierced him and he instantly regretted his words. Sonja—no matter if she lived a thousand centuries—would ever feel what Lucian described.

"The moon and stars have their own beauty," she whispered and Lucian's heart tightened as a tear slid down her cheek and landed in their son's nest of hair. He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

"Forgive me, my love. I spoke carelessly," he crooned. Sonja shrugged with her usual negligence when emotions ran too deep for her liking.

"You're right, Lucian. I would not deny him that. But I _won't_ risk it. Why are you so eager to risk killing him?" she whispered, her voice shaking with passion. It was Lucian's turn to flinch. Sonja still hadn't forgiven him.

Around the warmth of the campfire a few weeks prior, with the watch set and Sonja gone hunting, Lucian and his brothers lounged after a long day of grueling travel over an increasingly steep and rocky terrain. Xavier, having napped all day in the carriage with Sonja, was bouncing with energy and sat happily rapping a stick against the stack of cooking utensils.

But as the food was prepared, Xavier grew fractious with hunger. Lucian hauled him up to sit on his knee. Sonja could be hours more if prey eluded her, and Xavier was hungry _now_. The knife was poised to open a vein and allow the boy to drink when one of his brothers needed a word. Lucian turned to listen, not noticing Xavier's determined course for the porridge bowl.

'_Xavier!'_ Sabaas shouted, lunging for the boy and scooping him up. Lucian turned to find the boy crying with shock, porridge smeared around his mouth. Sonja had loped into camp at precisely this moment, and jumped to the wrong conclusion. Lucian had only barely stopped her from slitting Sabaas' throat.

Lucian had never seen his wife in such a mood of wild desperation—beyond tears or rage, simply an impassive façade, fully expecting her son to die at any moment.

He didn't.

Now he happily enjoyed both blood and human food without compunction. It had been a week before Sonja would even speak to Lucian.

"I am _not_ trying to kill him, Sonja," Lucian snarled darkly. She saw the effect of her words and squeezed his hand in a mute plea for forgiveness.

"Please try and see reason," he continued, "His heart beats. He is warm. He can tolerate human food. Perhaps in this too he is like me."

"Perhaps," she agreed. She bent and dropped a gentle kiss on the crown of his head and handed him to Lucian.

"Try, then. Only his hand. Do it quickly before I change my mind!" she said, hazel eyes tormented. Lucian grinned down at his son, pecking little kisses on his chubby hands, making him squeal with delight.

"Listen to your papa, Xavier. The sun doesn't like your mama. It bites her whenever she goes outside in the daytime. I want to see if the sun bites you too, hm?" Lucian explained. Xavier's hazel eyes were solemn and trusting, as if he understood every word.

"It will be very quick," he promised both of them.

Out of the tail of his eye, he saw Sonja's hands clench in the folds of her gown, knuckles bloodless. A muscle fluttered in her jaw, the dimple in her cheek appearing for a fraction of an instant. Lucian grasped the door handle and shoved it open a fraction. A golden sliver of noonday sun striped Lucian's work-toughened wrist, and the pale, chubby palm of Xavier's. Lucian closed the door, groping in the sun-blinded dark for Xavier's hand.

He wasn't crying . . .

Sonja's cool hands beat him to it, and her whisper was soft and disbelieving.

"He's fine. He's _fine_."

"Of course he is," Lucian whispered, leaning in to kiss her cheek, "He's our son."

**XXX**

The spicy scent of smoke filled the air, an ill omen for the village they rode toward. Sonja's keen eyes detected a plume of dark smoke and the orange leap of flames—too large to simply be a peasant's hearth or even a bonfire. Like a screaming kettle boiling over, like an upset anthill, France seethed with the ravages of war. The remains of pillage and battle littered the countryside, knights and infantrymen of both camps joined in the brotherhood of death in hasty mass graves.

"What village is that?" Lucian asked, urging his horse closer to the carriage window. He stood in his stirrups, sniffing the air like an inquisitive bloodhound. Sonja peered at the map spread across her lap. Her finger grazed the parchment, a blunt fingernail tapping the cramped handwriting with a faint crackle.

"Castleguard Village," she answered, "guarded by Castle La Roque."

"Looks like a battle ahead."

Excitement embroidered his words and Sonja knew he'd been itching for action in the months of mundane travel since Venice. He was not a violent man by nature, but even the most gentle of men, especially those whose blood had mingled with an Immortal, craved a good, bloody fight from time to time.

Sonja glanced at Xavier who patiently stacked the painted blocks Sabaas had carved for him on the floor of the carriage despite the fact that every struck pothole knocked them down. Were it not for him, Sonja would have gladly run at her husband's flank and joined him in a night of glorious battle. Their eyes met with perfect understanding. He smiled sidelong at her, his face burnished by the light reflected from far away fires.

"I'll ride ahead and scout for a way around."

The village was a burned shell, a dead peasant lying at the mouths of their gutted hovels. Sonja leaned out of the doorway of the carriage and shouted in ringing tones, "Halt!"

The modest train of armed Lycans—both mounted and on foot—and baggage wains screeched to a stop. Half a dozen others heeled their horses after Lucian's. The fire was coming from up the hill, at the gates of La Roque.

"Stay here, Xavier," Sonja whispered to her son. Regardless of their grim surroundings or the lack of light, he continued merrily with his blocks, ignoring her.

"Watch him," Sonja ordered Sabaas.

Sonja crossed the muddy yard with a burst of inhuman speed, leaping nimbly to the roof of the manor house. Her keen eyes watched the trajectory of a fireball from a trebuchet, streaking like a meteor across the sky and smashing with a shower of burning shrapnel against the immobile wall of La Roque castle. Experience told her that it would take many nights and days to chip away at those formidable defenses. Had the townspeople fled to La Roque, or had the English taken it?

The rotted wood creaked under her weight and Sonja leapt from the high vault, executing a graceful flip and landing in a crouch. A pale hand peeked from beneath an overturned wagon. Sonja kicked over the ramshackle vehicle and gasped. The form of a French peasant with an arrow protruding from her back, a child clutched her bosom. She didn't have to check the child. The night was cold—the poor babe had died from exposure in its mother's last embrace.

A hot, jagged fury welled up in her chest, seeing Xavier in the dead child. French peasant or vampire princess, both was united by the most basic of female instincts: _protect your young_. This woman had died doing so.

Sonja's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword. She loped back to the carriage and softened slightly at the sight of Xavier perched in the saddle in front of Sabaas, his laugh the faint pealing of bells. Her son had stolen the hearts of every Lycan, but Sabaas most of all. Perhaps his solicitousness was an act of penance for his role in nearly killing them both aboard in Crete, but Sonja thought not. Real love shone in the fox-faced Lycan's eyes when he looked at Xavier.

Sonja heard the thunder of Lucian's party's hooves. Lucian's horse shied as Sonja blurred in its path.

"What did you find?"

There was ice and steel in her tone, the dead baby's beautiful, blue-tinged face clear in her mind's eye. Lucian frowned, a curt glance assuring himself of Xavier's safety.

"The roads are clear. Count Arnau of the French is putting up a gallant fight, but Lord Oliver is dug in deep," Lucian surmised, spitting into the dirt at the mention of the cruel English fop who had sown so much destruction across the pastoral countryside. Sonja sank back onto her heels. Had it been the English in siege before La Roque's walls, she could have slipped in and spread her own brand of destruction before the first truncated bodies hit the ground. But to infiltrate a held castle in the middle of a war was too much of risk for the uncertain reward of a vague sense of vengeance for a town of slaughtered peasants.

"Very well, then. We should move on," she said. Lucian's cool blue eyes were steady on her and their touch was like water over a burn, cool relief trickled through the seething angry places in her.

"Of course," he murmured, opening the carriage door for her. Sonja shook her head and mounted her horse. She was too fractious and angry to be trapped in a rolling box.

"I need to ride. I'll meet you at the next milestone." Concern flickered in her beloved's gaze and she smiled gently, leaning over with a squeak of saddle leather to kiss his mouth.

"The sooner we reach London, the better."

**XXX**

"Hot!" Xavier crowed, pointing to the torch flickering on the barge across the Thames.

A thick veil of mist concealed London, so thick even Sonja's sharp eyes could not penetrate it. So many months of danger and grueling travel, death and loss and pain and now they couldn't even see their destination! She grinned, plucking at the wings of her son's cloak, swaddling him tight within the cage of her embrace. Winter wind off the water was bitter and bitingly cold. Sonja scented snow in the air. It was unlikely that they would outrun it before reaching the coven.

'Hot' was Xavier's favorite new word, his vocabulary was a curious, jumbled mix of language—hers and Lucian's Romanian and a smattering of French and Greek. Lucian was faithfully radiating enough heat to earn Xavier's favorite label and Sonja counted the seconds.

_One . . . two . . ._

"Hot!" Xavier piped, reaching for his papa.

"Very good, Xavier. You should learn 'hairy' next," she whispered in his ear, glancing at Lucian. Her husband's ears were very keen and his lips twitched at her jibe, blue eyes sparkling with mirth. Tiring of this game, Xavier reached up to Lucian.

"Hold you!" he commanded. The jumbled order didn't alter the heart-melting potential of the words and Sonja hadn't the heart to correct this slip of the tongue. Lucian was putty at this request and accepted the boy's weight.

"All right, then lad. Come here to your papa."

Sonja marveled once more at his growth. Scarcely six months after he was born, Xavier looked closer to the size of a toddler to an infant. It was strange to see him garbed as a lord, she reflected, critically appraising his taut, lithely muscled form concealed in butter-soft leather trousers and a thin shirt of snowy linen, frilling with lace at the collar and cuffs. The coat was a somber, heavy gray, but it couldn't hide his breadth of shoulder or muffle the pulse of his masculine authority.

It _would_ have been more convincing if Lucian had cut his hair and shaved his beard, but he was obstinate on this fact. He would _not_ shave. Sonja had been tempted to take the shears to him while he slept. With all his hair, he looked like a barbarian chieftain, not a French lord.

"Look, Papa!" Xavier shouted. Sonja followed the arc of his arm and the trajectory of his pointing finger and saw England's capital wreathed in grey mist. Sonja was unimpressed after seeing Constantinople, Venice, Paris and a half a dozen worthy cities within the Holy Roman Empire. She made the appropriate awed noises for Xavier, but fidgeted in her seat.

Dawn was approaching. There was no way they could take the coven today. Another bloody delay. The halcyon golden days of leisure aboard the _Demeter_ were a distant memory after months of slogging through icy mud and days being trapped in a rolling hothouse.

Yes, Sonja's patience was at its end!

The barge docked at last and Lucian tossed a few coins to the barge captain. One of Lucian's brothers, posing as the servant to the Lord and Lady Lupé, newly arrived from Paris, gathered their belongings onto a cart. Even before dawn, the muddy streets of London were crowded. Lucian set Xavier atop a chest, where he gleefully swatted Lucian's brother Lycan with the end of leather cord, braying, "Faster, horsie!"

Sabaas and the others had ridden ahead to secure lodgings and inquire about the presence of a certain ship in the harbor. To send word between the _Demeter_ and their earthbound party was impossible, and Sonja knew that Lucian had nightmares about losing his brothers—especially Raze. Sonja was worried for him too—even crossing the Channel had been dangerous.

At last, as dawn threatened, they found the inn—The Prancing Pony. Xavier continued his horsie game even as the Lycan lifted him to sit perched on his shoulders. In lieu of a leather thong, Xavier grasped handfuls of dark hair to use as reins. Sabaas, who had been lounging by the fire, flirting with a serving wench, leapt to his feet at their entrance.

"Any word?" Lucian demanded. Sabaas' narrow features lit up and Sonja felt some of her tension ease at the promise of good news.

"Yes! I spoke with every captain and dockmaster I could find. One out of Spain told us they'd seen her rounding the horn of Portugal not a fortnight ago." Sonja's lips pursed. Rounding Portugal after almost five months at sea? Stars, the storms must have been hellish!

"Are you sure it was them?" Sonja asked. A dry smile curled Sabaas' mouth and Sonja felt a flicker of warm emotion toward him. It had taken him a long time to treat her as he did Lucian—he wavered between wary fear and an almost obsequious politeness.

"Not many people can mistake Raze. The captain I spoke to was scandalized that a black was helming a ship as fine as the _Demeter_."

Sonja shook her head. Human prejudices baffled her. They, at least, were the same race. What did it matter if they were tall or short, white or black, French or English?

"Good!" Lucian grinned, laughing in relief, "that is very good news. They should be here any day!" This fine mood buoyed them up the stairs to their chamber.

Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she sank onto the soft bed and floated away into oblivion, listening to Lucian's low murmuring and Xavier's chanting sentences.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow—their piece would move, challenging the black king across the board to checkmate.

xxxxxxxxxx

_A/N: Cliffie! I'm an evil author aren't I? Finally, our intrepid crew had reached their destination. Tell me what you think!_

_BTW, I couldn't help linking this story with another of my favorite movies Timeline. Copyrighted and all the characters belong to their rightful owners yada yada yada. It is roughly the same time period, and Michael Sheen stars as the English Lord Oliver in that movie! Couldn't resist having him and Lucian in the same place at the same time! _

_Read and review! _


	9. Divergence: VI

**VI**

Underworld belongs to its creators.

xxxx

Viktor's precious coven wasn't within the city walls of London, but crouched like a brooding gargoyle along one of the main thoroughfares heading north from the city. It was a stout, respectable castle of timber and stone, but small enough not to be contested by land-hungry lords. Castle Wolf's Bane. Lucian smiled wryly as he surveyed the castle from beneath the cowl of his cloak. Viktor always did have a strange sense of humor.

He stood with the hunched posture of a slave at Sonja's right stirrup, glancing over his shoulder at the carriage and his brothers clad as slaves, eyes lowered subserviently. Both he and Sonja were united in their agreement to keep Xavier as far from the fighting as possible—he waited with Sabaas to rendezvous with Raze whenever the _Demeter_ docked.

Torches blazed along the wall, illuminating the silver armor of a quartet of Death Dealers. The sight was so familiar that Lucian could feel the weight of a moon-shackle around his neck, and could easily imagine Viktor striding across the courtyard to see who dared come to his gate.

"Hello the castle!" Sonja shouted, standing in her stirrups.

Lucian sent up a fervent prayer that their ruse would go successfully. Without entry to the castle, it would take many weeks to batter down the walls. And sieges as a rule were very visible, and would raise question here as it wouldn't in the forests of Romania.

"Who goes there?" yelled an unfamiliar voice.

"Lady Sonja—daughter of Viktor and First of the Death Dealers!"

At her father's castle, that would be all it took to open gates, doors, dungeons and coffers. Often, the name was unnecessary. They knew her by her face and reputation. A breathless pause stretched on for a small eternity. Lucian's stomach tightened in trepidation. The mere mention of Viktor or Sonja's name should send them in swift, scurrying obedience. Vampire hierarchy was not to be trifled with—as Lucian had cause to know.

Then, the drawbridge began to lower.

Sonja tossed her head, casting a wave of black hair over one shoulder. As she did so, she caught his eye. The thread connecting them shimmered. She had not dropped her guard yet. Lucian glanced over his shoulder at his brothers and mouthed 'Be ready.' The thick wooden drawbridge lowered and Sonja urged her horse forward. Lucian jogged to keep pace at her stirrup, glancing up as they entered the castle.

It was of similar construct as its predecessor, with a thick wall armed with Death Dealers over the gate, and the expanse of the keep ringed with turrets and watchful eyes peering from arrow slits. Sonja swung off her horse, tossing the rein negligently in his direction. He caught it and stroked the animal's nose, staying barely a pace behind Sonja's left shoulder, effectively blocking a clean shot from the Death Dealers behind them. If they were ambushed, Sonja would be safe. The portcullis lowered behind them, slamming shut with a rattling clang, cutting off their route of escape.

"Who is in command here?" Sonja snapped.

"I am," said a stranger, his voice a low, snarling rasp, "it is a pleasure to finally meet you, _Lady_ Sonja."

Through the dancing veil of mist, Lucian saw a finely dressed vampire stride toward them. Too arrogant in his stride to simply be the castle's constable, and yet he was not one of the Council, or a Death Dealer as far as Lucian knew. He hadn't the posture or awareness of a warrior.

"Do you recognize him?" Lucian whispered. The shake of her head was barely discernible. Her eyes were vampiric blue and Lucian admired the beauty in her taut focus, her rigid control.

"Perhaps. To whom am I speaking?" Sonja said coolly.

"Kraven," answered the stranger, his thin, weasly features striking an uncomfortable chord in Lucian. He was not to be trusted.

"Should I know you, Sir? What right have you to impede entrance to my castle?" Sonja's voice was as cold and sharp-edged as the sword she gripped so tightly.

The wrongness of the situation sank into his bones and he gripped the hilts of his scimitars underneath the humped shape of his cloak. It _was_ possible for a runner to reach the castle before them. Weeks at sea, then they had lost at least a month in Venice with Xavier's birth, plus all the war and mud they fought through overland . . .

Aye, a single vampire could run from dusk until dawn and beat a party of a hundred who were afflicted with needs for food and sleep.

The other Death Dealers shifted nervously on the wall, hearing the warning in Sonja's voice. Of all things, Kraven _laughed_. Sonja's eyes flashed dangerously.

"_Your_ castle? How odd that you would call it yours after you fornicated with a _Lycan_ and were disowned by your father."

There was a collective hiss of disgust and horror from the Death Dealers behind them. Sonja's equanimity was iron-clad. She uttered her own bark of mirthless laughter as Lucian reeled. Viktor had made swift work finding him a replacement!

"Disowned, is it? A clever twist of words. Did my father tell you that I stabbed him and forced him to set us free? I can still smell the human on you, _boy_. He must have turned you less than a fortnight after we stole his precious ship. You must have risked the sun a couple of times to make it here before us. I commend you for that."

Lucian threw off the cloak with a flourish, his curved swords flashing in the torchlight.

"Ah, you must be the infamous Lucian, the dog that had this bitch panting." Kraven sneered.

Sonja hissed, fangs glinting. She would have gone for the little runtling's throat, but faster than even Lucian could follow, she was behind him. He turned, crying out as he heard the meaty thud strike her. A crossbow bolt. She had saved him, taking one to the chest. He threw an arm around her, staggering back toward the shelter of the carriage.

Kraven had disappeared.

"Now, brothers!" Lucian bellowed, leaning Sonja against the carriage's side. With a chorus of roars, his brothers changed. Crossbow bolts whizzed from every direction.

"Lucian," Sonja said. He looked down and found Sonja holding the bolt, its silver tip dripping with her blood. The small hole in her clothing revealed perfect white skin. Her smile was wry and teasing.

"It will take more than that to get rid of me, my love." Her long fingers snapped the bolt's shaft and threw down the useless pieces. Lucian leaned in and kissed her.

"Maybe if you would stop intercepting sharp objects with your body, or stepping into the sun, I might not be so overprotective." She rolled her eyes.

"Stepping into the sun, eh? Trust me, if you knew what it was like to burn, you wouldn't dare jest about it!" Lucian took in a breath to say something more when Sonja's hand darted out, snatching a bolt a scant span from Lucian's throat.

"What say we finish this conversation later?" Lucian said, stripping off his clothes.

"Hmm," Sonja agreed, drawing her sword, "Kraven is mine."

Like a shapely shadow of death, Sonja blurred from sight to wreak bloody havoc. Lucian drew in a deep breath, sinking through the layers of self, seeking the tiny kernel of his truest being. Beyond blacksmith, warrior, husband, father, wolf or human, distilled in the purest sense, unfettered by love or hate. He found it, and bade it to change form. His physical body obeyed his will's command, bones, organs, skin and fur morphing.

Wolf Lucian loosed a mighty roar to the leering crescent moon. A short leap and he stood on his hind legs atop the carriage, the wood creaking under his weight. The chaos of battle ordered itself into vampire and Lycan. Kraven had warned the coven of their arrival, but had not brought reinforcements—speed over power. It would be his last mistake.

His brothers fought as a pack now, following their alpha female. Lucian's human mind laughed. The coven would be theirs before this night ended! His wet black nostrils flared, catching the scent of the foul-tongued-runtling-Kraven riding from the castle.

_Run as far as you wish, coward. We will find you, _he thought.

Lucian leapt from the carriage to join in the battle.

**XXX**

The dark loam of England's countryside was soft under the light touch of her boots. Lucian's Lycan brothers—augmented by the arrival of Raze and the others—made swift work of a den of complacent Death Dealers. The thread between her and Lucian burned with the force of his joy and relief at the sight of Raze's massive shape.

But there was no time for reunions.

Now, she, Lucian and a Lycan whose name she hadn't had time to learn sprinted through the starlit night after Kraven and his guard. It went against her instincts, she thought wryly, allowing wolves to keep pace with her. The thrill of the hunt sang through her and she smiled into the wind. Sonja poured on more speed, seeing the evidence of fleeing horses: churned earth, broken twigs and the wet stink of sweat and fear. She leapt over a stream with barely a break in stride. She noticed two sets of tracks. The runt was clever! She peeled off northward, after the smaller group, a single horseman.

"Lucian, you two follow the others! Kraven is _mine_!" she shouted.

Both black wolves snarled in agreement and sprinted after the other group. Sonja drew her sword as she ran, cutting the underbrush from her path. Viktor's little pet would live to regret angering her!

_What will you do now, Father?_ She asked in her innermost being. _We have won, Lucian and I. Your ship, your coven, your men, all belong to _me_. _

Exultant, she burst through the trees and spotted her prey. He had abandoned his horse and now made a mad dash for the cliffs. His silk shirt fluttered like a crimson banner in the wind, the white of his eye showing all around as he glanced behind him and saw her. Sonja flicked the mechanism on her sword's hilt and let the discs fly. Silver did not harm her kind, but all she needed as a fraction of a second. The discs struck home, sinking deep into the flesh and muscle of thigh and back. The scent of his blood lit a wild killing instinct savage and older than time—she was his better! He would lick her boots before he succumbed to the true death!

She had to give him credit, he did not slow as the discs pierced his flesh, in fact, he galloped toward the cliffs as if their sheer surface was his salvation. She better than anyone knew what a potent motivator desperation was. Sonja hefted her sword to throw it and was surprised when Kraven turned and threw a rock into her face. With their combined speed, it would have passed clear through the skull of a human or even a Lycan, but for her, the rock cut deep into her cheek, glancing off bone and falling in rubble to the ground. Sonja's stride stumbled and she only barely kept from tumbling end over end in an ignominious display of clumsiness. Epithets flew to her lips as ginger fingers inspected the raw edges of the bleeding wound. The elation of battle and the chase had sharpened, deepened into true rage.

How _dare_ he!

"You _bastard_!" she spat and aimed the tip of her sword between his shoulder blades. She threw.

The blade flew true, then . . .

Kraven dropped out of sight, throwing himself from the cliff. Sonja wanted to howl in frustration. She hurried to the cliff's edge and scanned the water. The sea undulated, as black as ink in the darkness, brief curls of white foam appearing as waves broke on the cliffs.

_Damn him! _Damn_ him! DAMN HIM! _She thought viciously.

Not only had her quarry escaped her, but her trusted sword, the same blade Lucian had made for her as a secret token of their love was lost. She would retrieve it, she comforted herself. She would retrieve it and hack Kraven into pieces with it.

Her connection with her husband heaved and stretched taut, nearly to the breaking point.

"Lucian!" Sonja whispered breathlessly.

She forgot the sword, she forgot Kraven, she forgot that anything else existed. He was in danger! Fear and anger gave her feet wings. Never before had a creature—Immortal or otherwise—ran so swiftly. All the while, her mind berated the object of her terror.

_They were only Death Dealers, you _pup_! How could you _and_ your brother have trouble when you have defeated so many? Oh please, please . . . _she begged whatever force moved the world, whatever magic existed, _Please let him live!_

Sonja could smell the blood long before she reached it. Severed limbs and organs littered the ground, the soil saturated with blood. A Lycan was surrounded by four Death Dealers. It was only as she thrust her hand through mail and flesh, tearing out a vampire's spine as he hefted a silver spear that she realized the wolf was not Lucian. The Lycan's jaws descended, snapping the necks of two Death Dealers. A blade flashed, but she felt nothing. She killed the remaining one as she had the first, pale hands coated with gore.

"Where is he?" Sonja demanded of him. When the Lycan roared in mad triumph and began gorging on the body of a slain horse, Sonja hefted the silver spear and stabbed him herself, deep in the thigh. The furred body shivered and shrank back into his human form.

"_Where is Lucian?"_ she screamed. Panic went mad within her, clenching around her heart and seeping into her muscles. The man's pain-blurred brown eyes met her livid blue ones.

"I'm sorry, my lady. I lost him in the forest. I thought he had gone to help you."

The sound that tore from her throat wasn't human. The Lycan's eyes were wide and terrified. He was new. Stars, she could smell the human on him hear it in his throbbing heart.

"Go!" she bellowed, "go back to the castle and tell Raze we need aid! _Now_!" The man tore the spear from his leg and changed, loping off toward the Castle Wolf's Bane.

Sanity beckoned. He wasn't dead—he _wasn't_! She would know it if he was! Sonja closed her eyes tight, focusing on Lucian, on the love that bound them together. Her muscles burned and ached, straining against implacable bonds. Her lungs screamed for air!

_Lucian! _She called out to him. She sped away like a darting shadow. She couldn't wait for him.

No time.

He was drowning!

A burn was an English lake, small and deep and teeming with silt and living things. The stream she had leapt over in pursuit of Kraven emptied into it. Sonja took one long stride and jumped, diving like an arrow into the burn. Through the brown water, she saw them. Vampires had no need of air, and as such, could stay underwater indefinitely. The vampire's legs were wrapped around Lucian's naked human stomach, squeezing—his arms flailed uselessly in the vampire's hold. Her brave beloved was still fighting, clawing toward freedom even as the pressure forced precious air from his starving lungs.

Panic shifted like quicksilver to molten rage. She dropped the sword. She wouldn't risk cutting Lucian by accident. The water glided over her, fizzing impotent bubbles of protest as she swam with a predator's agile grace. The vampire was too intent on drowning her husband to notice her. Sonja curled her fingers under the vampire's chin. His skin was cool and clammy, the agitated rolling of his eyes, the soundless pleas for mercy he mouthed angered her. In one effortless backwards yank, she tore off the vampire's head, releasing a fount of crimson into the brown water. Lucian was sinking to the bottom, still trapped within the prison of the dead vampire's limbs. Sonja clawed at them, tearing aside the dissected pieces and grabbing Lucian still form.

So cold!

Sonja coiled her legs and catapulted off the muddy bottom toward the surface.

He didn't gasp for air as they broke the surface. He was limp and cold in her grip.

"Lucian!" a wake rippled behind her as she swam to shore.

Kneeling in the mud, she lowered her ear to his mouth. Nothing. His beloved face was a bloated, blue mask of death. A keening cry tore from her lips. Hot moisture blurred her vision and scalded her cheeks. Clawed hands tore at her hair. How could she help him? Paralyzed by her own ineptitude as he was dying, slipping away from her . . .

"Lucian! I won't let you die!" she howled, kissing his face. Struck by inspiration, she pressed her lips to his and blew, long and slow. He must have breathed in some water. How did she get it out? Maybe she could push . . . Sonja pulsed her hands over the center of his chest, pausing only to breathe into him again.

His color was better! Yes! Yes! Now if he would only breathe . . .

"_Breathe_, damn you!" She slammed her fist into his belly.

Water vomited from his mouth, tapering weakly into a coughing fit. Sonja went limp with relief at the warm, steady exhalation of life issuing from his lips, stroking his hair with one hand. A smear of red darkened his tangled hair. Frowning, Sonja combed back the thick pelt, searching for a bleeding wound. She found none. She sniffed.

The blood was not his.

Only then, Sonja saw the blood sliding lazily down her arm, pooling in the shallows around them until the lapping waves were red. That bloody Death Dealer had managed to stab her without her noticing! She stood, intent on running to find aid for Lucian. Her face felt numb. She shook her head to clear it. The world ebbed and swam before her eyes. She took two strides before the ground rose up to meet her.

The merry twittering of birds woke her. Sonja's eyes snapped open and she rolled on her side, looking for Lucian. He lay where she had left him, the sunlight dappling his naked body with a leopard's pelt of gold.

_Sunlight_?

Sonja gasped. Morning sun dappled the forest and the burn. It was by sheer luck that the shade was deep and solid enough to conceal her. She trembled, certain death a couple spans away. Her arm had healed itself in her unwilling somnolence. And Lucian . . .

"Lucian!" she hissed. He twitched and uttered a small moan, then stilled. From her vantage point, blinking into an awful glare, she watched the rise and fall of his chest, the pulse of his heartbeat in his throat. He was alive.

As long as he was, she would be too.

**XXX**

Raze was passionately grateful he had thought to bring the carriage. This small forest along a muddy lake was littered with carnage. In the first clearing, he dispatched several of his men to strip the vampires of arms and armor, and then burn them, along with the bodies of the horses. England was far more populous than the dark forests of Romania. Such massacres were noticed here. Along the lake, he found Sonja, stranded in a tiny island of solid shade. He swore in his native tongue.

"It took you long enough!" Sonja snapped.

"You had ample time to return to the castle before daybreak." Raze pointed out. Her fangs flashed. Vampires in broad daylight were testy things.

"I was injured! I passed out."

The irritation faded and an indescribable expression of painful love diffused her features. He knew her words would be for Lucian even before she spoke. Stars, he had missed them in his months at sea.

"Get Lucian, Raze."

He looked past her to find Lucian passed out in the shallows of the burn, naked. Raze made an abortive gesture toward the carriage, but Sonja was obstinate. She would not go to safety before Lucian. As Raze squelched through the mud, the night's events tumbled out of her. Her sparse description made Raze's gorge rise.

There was no need for flowery declarations or expensive gifts to articulate their love. She would kill or be killed to save him a second of pain, as he would for her. Theirs was brutal, but poignant expression. Raze lifted his brother's limp body and laid him across the carriage's bench. Like a whisper in the wind, Sonja was beside him, her hair and clothes smoking from the brief exposure to the sun. Raze closed the door and felt the stirrings of something like contentment. If Lucian and Sonja could survive all that had threatened to tear them apart, then the world was a better place for it.

Love like theirs came once in a millennium.

**XXX**

"We found him this morning, gorging on what remained of a group of fisherman," Sabaas reported, "These were embedded in his back."

Three silver discs clinked together as they landed on the scarred surface of the former constable's table. Lucian glanced sidelong at Sonja and found her face set in a blank mask that hid all emotion. A habit of hers when she was gripped by a particularly strong emotion. Her eyes betrayed her—painted a pale, vampiric blue. Passing strange that Kraven would go to such lengths to evade Sonja, but then do something as foolish as kill locals for a meal. Sonja must have sensed the tenor of his thoughts, for the ghost of a smile touched her lips.

"He may be clever, but he is still a young vampire. He cannot control himself when thirst grips him. And what is his alternative? If he returns to Viktor, he will be killed."

Lucian leaned back in the chair, lifting its front two legs off the rush-strewn floor. He drowsed in a pool of sunlight streaming in from a murky window, weak still from the near-miss two nights passed. Sonja sat across from him in deep shade, watching him—hovering. By the moon, she stared at him as if was about to keel over at any moment! He sat in the sun partly out of pique. That at least, would deter her from leaning close to listen to his lungs, or ply him with soups and tonics.

Now she knew how he felt, damn it!

"True," Lucian agreed, momentarily distracted by Xavier's high-pitched, pealing laughter from the yard below. He had wrapped his papa's sea-faring brothers around his pudgy fingers. He was now engaged in a rowdy game of tag perched on Raze's broad shoulders.

"What shall we do with him? Kill him?" Sabaas suggested, an avid gleam in his dark eyes.

"The kill is Sonja's, Sabaas," Lucian pointed out coolly. He and his brother had come to terms in their months of travel, but Lucian would never fully trust him again. The sight of Sonja burned and broken was permanently etched into his psyche.

Sonja rose suddenly, a graceful unfolding of limb that saw her standing, dangerously close to the sunlight inching across the honey-colored rushes, strewn with dried flowers. Startled, Lucian pitched forward in his chair. Was she worried for Xavier? It was a constant fear of hers, that he would come to some harm during the day when she could not help him. Lucian cast out his hearing and heard only Raze's bass voice underscoring Xavier's childish treble.

"Sonja? What is it?"

"I have an idea."

Lucian was tempted to yank the covering from the window and watch the little prick fry. He and Sonja had just laid out their plan—with perfect civility—and Kraven had the gall to laugh!

"Wait, let me get this straight: you want me to help fake your deaths so you can spend centuries searching for a mythical Messiah?"

He and Sonja shared a glance. After Xavier's first full moon, where he transformed into a creature with the combined strengths of both races of Immortals, they had realized that this hybrid race was the future. Xavier was unbound by the weaknesses of either race and his powers were beyond imagining. But the future lay not in their mingled blood alone. The key was the lost son of Corvinus.

"I am a young vampire, but even I know that the story is a _myth_," Kraven's craggy voice softened to a simper, "The three sons of Corvinus, one bitten by bat, one by wolf, one doomed to walk the earth as a mortal. A fable. A tale for the stupid and the gullible." His eyes grazed over Lucian and Sonja in turn.

Sonja darted forward, swift as thought, and skewered his hand to the table with the dagger at her belt. Kraven's long, crudely handsome features twisted. A thin crust of dried blood ringed his mouth from his interrupted meal, a rakish spray of drops peppering his cheekbones. Thin fissures of white skin showed as he screamed. Lucian smiled in secret admiration for his wife as she leaned close and murmured something too low for Lucian to hear. Whatever she said had a magical effect. Kraven's dark eyes flew wide and he squirmed in his seat in an effort to make himself smaller.

"Myth, truth, that is not the point," Lucian snapped, leaning over the table to fix Kraven with a blistering stare.

"The point is: You must do this, or die. If you refuse, we will kill you. If by some miracle you escape, Viktor will kill you for failing to hold this castle. If you betray us, we will kill you. _Think_, Kraven. If you do this, you will be hailed as a hero by all of vampire society. Viktor will make you his general, his regent—First of the Death Dealers, perhaps."

Something flickered in Kraven's deep-set eyes.

"That position is already taken."

"It is? By whom?" Sonja asked. Lucian watched her out of the tail of his eye. Did she miss it, her exalted position, her privilege and honor? No doubt it galled one of Sonja's pride to be branded a pariah by her own kind.

"Will you kill me if I don't tell you?" Kraven shot back, staring pointedly at the dagger still fixed in his hand. Sonja's eyes narrowed, but she jerked the dagger from his hand, wiping the blood from the blade on the neckline of Kraven's tunic in delicate warning.

"I'm not sure who she is. Viktor's new pet—he hasn't turned her yet. He's waiting until she is in her prime. Her name is Selene."

"My replacement," Sonja said dryly, her grim smile not reaching her eyes. Lucian wanted to comfort her somehow, but such a display before Kraven's eyes would weaken their position. He sufficed with a swift change in subject.

"What say you, Kraven?"

When night fell the next night, it found Castle Wolf's Bane ablaze. Lucian, Sonja and the Lycans were singed from the pages of history and the phoenix Kraven rose from the ashes of the great blaze—armed with proof of the deadly pair's demise, the slave's brand cut from Lucian's very arm, and the necklace worn by Viktor's warrior daughter.

The trap and been set, the pieces on the board were moving.

The War had truly begun.

XXXXX

_A/N: Thank you everyone for your support and encouragement. Your reviews make my day! So what do you think? Like it? Hate it? _

_From here, I will probably follow the thread of the first Underworld movie, maybe mix in a few confrontations between Sonja and Selene—I've always wanted to see what those two would say/do to each other._

_Let me know if you have any suggestions! _


	10. Divergence: VII

**VII**

Enter Standard Disclaimer Here.

**New York**

**1999**

Lucian padded soundless after his prey, admiring the lush curves of her buttocks that were barely concealed by a piece of siren red cloth that had the audacity to call itself a dress. In the crushing throng of drunken New Year's revelers, she hadn't noticed him—yet. He paused to relish the pleasure of walking uninhibited in the upper world. Guerilla warfare and solitude grew wearisome after six hundred years. His manner of dress may have adapted with the times, but his long, wavy brown hair and light dusting of facial hair was his own. He hoped his prey did not have a preference for clean-shaven men.

It mattered little how he looked. After the embarrassing outbreak of war, and then Tannis' exile, Viktor had gone through a great deal of trouble to destroy any clues to his appearance. He, like any other of this world's dictators, knew that if one was to control information and knowledge, then it was far easier to manipulate the minds of those under them.

Lucian shouldered his way through the sweaty crush of humanity and hailed the bartender for a beer, eyes scanning the upscale club. The throb of music pulsed around him, punctuated by faint bursts of raucous laughter and shouted conversation. For all its slick, pseudo-sophisticated façade, a twenty-first century club was no different than a sixteenth century bordello. His prey made a circuit around the room, a calculated saunter exaggerating the sway of her hips and the voluptuous curves of breast and hip, all poured into that provocative little dress. She tossed her mane of loose blond hair over her shoulder, long eyelashes thickened with mascara batting over clear grey eyes. His were not the only pairs of lusting male eyes to look upon her. She disdained the attentions of lesser males. She needed something stronger. Something potent. He sensed that—_scented_ it—in her. She would find her way to him. Immortals as old as he learned to be patient.

Lucian nursed his beer, affecting a certain mixture of aloofness and predatory awareness that drove human women wild. It wasn't long before a sumptuous redhead sidled up to him, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

"Hey, handsome."

Lucian smiled slightly, one long canine glinting wetly in the fluorescent red light from the bar. His gaze wandered over the redhead. The shapes of her pleased him, but his reaction had little of the visceral heat of the blond. The prey in question was immured at the bar, surrounded by three would-be suitors. Every handful of seconds, she would glance his way. Lucian returned his attention to the redhead.

"Hey yourself. What is your name, beautiful?" he asked. The redhead's tongue grazed her glossed lips before she spoke.

"Cindy. Cindy Prescott. What's yours?"

"Luke," Lucian answered, "Luke Wolfe." Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his prey had dismissed her gaggle of suitors and was dancing this way.

"Hmm, Luke. I like that name. Wanna dance?" Cindy purred, brushing his hand in a subtly seductive way. His prey slid in between him and Cindy, her succulent mouth upturned in a devilish grin.

"Babe, I'm so glad I found you. You wouldn't believe the line for the little girls' room!" her hand alighted proprietarily on Lucian's forearm, casting a venomous glare at Cindy that clearly stated 'Get lost, bitch.' Lucian shrugged a little at Cindy's furious face and stroked his prey's chin, delighting in the satiny texture of her skin.

"I was beginning to think I'd have to come in after you," he drawled, capturing her gaze, feeling the subtle quickening of her breath. He pushed off from the bar and draped a lazy arm around the curve of her hip. He shrugged at Cindy and she flushed with outrage and stormed off. Lucian chuckled, not releasing his hold on his bold prey. She didn't object, but settled that fine bum more firmly against his thigh.

"Was that really necessary?" he asked. One perfect brow lifted.

"I had to think of something to get that little tramp with her tacky dye job away from you."

"And what if I was perfectly happy with her tacky dye job?" he shot back. She rolled her eyes, pouting her lips adorned with a glossy coat of lipstick to match her dress.

"Oh, please. You've been staring at me ever since I got here." Lucian smiled, secretly surprised that she had detected him.

"Caught me. What do we do now?" His hand slipped a little, wandering from the small of her back to the backside he had been admiring. She twisted out of his embrace, grinning catlike at him.

"Well, Luke-"

"How do you know my name?" he asked. She shrugged.

"I heard the tramp say it on my way to rescue you. I'm Andy, by the way. Now, as I was saying, there are two options. One: we dance, we drink, we talk about all the boring stuff, what you do, where you live, if you have a cat." Lucian chuckled, enchanted by her easy charm and nonchalant seductiveness.

"And the other?" he prompted. His prey's grey eyes glinted. She sauntered close, bracing her hands on his hips to lean close. Her breath was warm against the shell of his ear and smelled of something sweet.

"Or . . . we skip all that and you come up to my place. It could be the end of the world. Don't you wanna spend it having fun?"

Andy lived in a penthouse in one of New York's ritziest skyrises. The private elevator hummed and then the heavy metal doors whisked open to reveal a room of sterile, austere design—all glass, chrome and granite. Andy strolled in, her tall red heels clicking on the black tile. Lucian trailed after her, agreeing to a glass of wine, shucking off his leather jacket. A quick glance confirmed his suspicion.

"Where is your husband this evening, Andy?" he asked, casually untucking his black shirt from his jeans. The wall of windows offered a fine view of the glittering city, the noise and crush of revelers so far away, like a dream.

Andy didn't miss a beat.

"Rome. For business. He's in stocks and all his investors are freaking out about the Y2K thing." She snorted derisively, handing him his glass.

"It's just a silly number!"

"I agree. I pity him. A life spent in fear is a life wasted." Lucian saluted her and swallowed some wine. It slid like cool silk down his throat, stoking a fire in his belly.

He saw the predatory glint in Andy's eye and Lucian had time to set down his glass before she was all over him with hot lips and greedy hands. The flavor of her mouth was sweet and heady, like the wine. It sank into his mind and inflamed him. Her hand slipped under his shirt and caressed his chest and belly, the other stroking the bulge in his jeans. His fingers tangled in her hair, then danced down her back and found the zipper to her dress.

A quick tug on the tab and she was twisting and undulating from the dress like a snake shedding its skin. Beneath the dress she wore a lacy scrap of cloth over her breasts—and nothing else. In the faint light of the city behind him, her skin glowed like pearls and opals.

"Naughty girl," Lucian murmured, fingers tracing the cleft of her buttocks, dipping low to tease the folds of her sex. She gasped and purred under the onslaught of his fingers, clawing at the fabric of his shirt. He withdrew his fingers reluctantly to speed up the process. He peeled off the shirt, and stepped out of his jeans. His erection jutted against the soft skin of her belly. Andy made an awed sound of approval and milked his length with knowledgeable hands. A ragged groan emanated from deep in his chest and Lucian caught her up in his arms, intent on carrying her to the bedroom he had glimpsed.

"No, no . . . let's do it here. Against the window," she urged breathlessly. Her tongue darted out and caught a drop of sweat pearled at his temple. Lucian braced her back against the glass and positioned himself at her entrance, rocking back and forth in delicious teasing caresses as she whimpered and writhed for more of him.

"Please . . ." she gasped. Lucian plunged inside, embraced by wet, pulsating heat.

"Wrap your legs around me." The command was harsh and guttural, but she obeyed with a subtle flex of inner muscle that drove him out of his mind with lust.

Lucian set a blistering pace of pounding muscle and rude, swiveling strokes. They spoke in only the most primitive of languages, with grunts and cries, fragments of words tearing from fevered minds and swollen lips. Her climax washed over him in greedy spasms again, again . . . and _again_.

His own released roared in his ears and he clawed at the turf of her hair, tearing the wig free. A silky coil of black rippled down her shoulders. He grasped handfuls of it, yanking her mouth down to his as he came in shuddering spurts.

"Sonja," he whispered against her lips. Her cool hands framed his face.

"Lucian."

xx

The New Year found the two of them drowsing in their king-size bed, her head against his shoulder and he toying with her hair. The roles of predator and prey were a potent aphrodisiac for both of them, and kept the sex life spicy throughout the centuries. However, Lucian was always the one to break the illusion. He didn't want to make love to Andy, Ginger, Tracy or Olivia; he wanted Sonja, his mate.

"Why must I be the one to look ridiculous for our fantasies, hmm?" Sonja asked, dangling the blond wig in his face. She had already removed the contacts, complaining that she could scarcely see in them, her keen vision finding minute cracks and warps in their design. Lucian rolled on his side, pressing the heat of his stiff male essence against her hip.

"You hardly looked ridiculous, my love." Sonja hummed, rolling on top of him, her white teeth glinting as she smiled.

"That's what I love about you, Lucian. You always know just the right thing to say."

Much later, she grabbed a hank of his hair and pantomimed snipping it with her fingers.

"It's the style to wear it short these days." Lucian carefully extracted her fingers from his hair and kissed them. It felt so good to touch her. How long had it been since they'd been together? Ten, fifteen years?

"Have you noticed, my love, that I'm not very fond of change? I like my hair how it is." Sonja's eyes, her own beautiful hazel, glinted with humor.

"In fact, my love, I have something of the sort. But take care not to fall asleep. You might wake up bald." Lucian laughed, but nervously touched his mane of hair and made a concerted effort not to slip further into somnolence. Sonja reached for her laptop and checked her email for the thousandth time.

"Nothing from Salem? Or Xavier?" he asked, kissing her shoulder. Sonja slammed the laptop closed.

"No."

Lucian heaved a sigh. As a slave, he had never dreamed of being a father. And after Xavier, he never dreamed that Sonja would quicken again with his child. But she did—during the Seven Years' War on this continent. Vampire women did not menstruate, and thus, there was no perceivable way to predicts periods of fertility. Xavier had been their miracle. Salem had been a gift from heaven.

"She'll check in. She always does." Lucian tried to comfort her—noting the prickly tension that began to gather around his wife. Presently, their gift from heaven was a moody delinquent bumming her way through Asia. It had been a solid century since all four of them were together, and Lucian quelled a surge of blistering anger at his children for making their mother worry so.

"I know she will. It's Xavier I'm worried about." Lucian frowned. The kind of pain their son was in was not a sort that Lucian knew any way to cure.

"I'm worried about him too. But on the war front, we should be able to move more freely."

At this quick swerve in topic, a blatant attempt to lighten the mood, he earned a sweet smile that lit soft warmth in his chest.

"That's true. Amelia is always the most lax on security. Which reminds me, have we checked in on Tannis recently?" Lucian studied the dark ceiling as he pondered.

"Not recently, no. We've an outpost nearby. I told the men there to check on him every couple years. I haven't heard any reports. Why?" Sonja smiled, eyes glinting.

"Just an idea for a new weapon." He knew better than to be fooled by her deliberately light tone.

"What weapon, my darling? We've been fighting in our fur and it's worked well enough." Sonja purred and stretched out next to him, as languid as a cat. Lucian rested his head on the palm of his hand, placing a possessive hand on the curve of her hip.

"Think the sun. In a bullet." Lucian's eyebrows lifted.

"UV rounds? How clever."

Once he had mused how much Viktor would regret turning a warrior such as Sonja against him. She had never given him cause to doubt this assumption.

"I love you."

Years dawned and died, seasons changed, he had said it in a thousand different ways in a thousand different languages. But this was fixed point in his universe. The playful banter fell from her face into that expression of vulnerability and tenderness that she only gave him. She leaned close and kissed him, long and sweet and slow, like a flower unfurling.

"I love you too," she whispered.

**XXX**

Seattle's fine, driving rain made lighting his cigarette nearly impossible. Shielding the lighter with his cupped palm, intermittent orange sparks flared and finally the spectral tendril of flame wavered to life. He sucked in a quick drag and sweet smoke curled in his lungs. He tucked the lighter back into the pocket of his leather jacket and made a show of shivering under the onslaught of a biting wind. Humans were frail creatures, the slightest breeze sent them scurrying into central heating. And their health protocols had him cooling his heels in the fucking rain.

A metro bus coughed and screeched to a stop nearby and Xavier exhaled smoke through his nose, watching an elderly couple disembark, their heavy coats and orthopedic shoes screaming 'tourist.' The man deployed a red umbrella and they huddled under it, waiting for the next bus. The man squinted at Xavier from behind horn-rimmed glasses. Something about the way he stood, the way he looked him in the eye told Xavier he was ex-military. Lying low during a war with the vampires had given him time to learn—he had served in a dozen different military branches across the globe.

"Miserable weather, isn't it?" he asked. Xavier shrugged, clearing ash with a quick flick of his fingers. He hadn't spoken to even his family in weeks; there was no way he'd deign to speak to this blood-bag. The man persisted, gesturing to his cigarette.

"Those'll kill you, you know."

Xavier uttered a bark of laughter. It sounded rusted and ugly. He hadn't much cause to laugh lately. He sucked another drag. His kind was immune to human diseases such as cancer and emphysema.

"I'm Immortal," was his laconic rejoinder as he blew a warm draft of smoke in his direction. The man snorted.

"You think you are, Son. But it'll catch up with ya. Trust me." Xavier rankled under the casual use of 'Son.'

_I was ancient before your grandfather was born, human!_

He snorted, crushed the spent butt under his heel and stalked off. A bedraggled string of brown hair fell in his face and he tossed his head. Father kept his hair at a ridiculous length, past his shoulders. Xavier had inherited that thick mane of dark brown hair, but kept his at a more manageable length at his chin.

No doubt Xavier's parents were on cloud nine in New York tonight, having wild reunion sex in their skyrise. Xavier shuddered, this time having nothing to do with the weather. True, his mother looked like a runaway supermodel and his father had a body that made most gym rats green with envy, but the thought of his parents having sex was a disturbing one even after centuries of witnessing them in their love bubble. That made him think of Rachel and his already poor mood sank into true depression. He wouldn't think of her and the Prague disaster tonight. Too many miles and years separated them now.

The combination of the miserable weather, the late hour and the holiday meant most streets were deserted. Of humans, anyway. He paused deliberately under an overpass, lighting up another cigarette. The taste of nicotine was sharply bitter, searing his taste buds. Vampires preferred to ambush from a height, like a panther. He could smell the Death Dealer; feel the prickle of watching eyes that calculated, crunching data. Being the first vampire-Lycan hybrid had its rewards. Xavier knew the instant the vampire decided to attack. Perhaps it was the faint flutter of his long leather coat, or the faint metal click of cocking his gun. Either way, the vampire didn't get a chance to squeeze off a round. Xavier pivoted, snatched the vampire out of the air, and snapped its spine over his knee like a stick of kindling.

The orange ember of his cigarette tip blazed in the inky darkness. The vampire's body made a faint splash as Xavier tossed it into the drainage ditch. The sun would finish it off before any of the humans dragged themselves out of bed tomorrow morning. Being a hybrid had its drawbacks too—he had known how to kill for a very, very long time. Xavier bent and picked up the Death Dealer's pistol.

A nice Glock.

He opened the chamber and shook out the bullet. Standard silver rounds. Xavier shoved the gun into the back of his pants, shrugging his coat over it. He finished his cigarette and headed for the subway. Raze needed to know about the Death Dealer.

**XXX**

Sonja squinted down the sight of her gun, freshly loaded with Tannis' new bullets—she could handle them with the aid of lead-lined gloves. Satisfied that the gun was clean and loaded, she shoved both pistols in their holsters within the voluminous depths of her leather coat. She remembered with some fondness the days when she would strap on mail or plate armor and sheathe a sword at her hip. Even up to the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, when firearms were unreliable and slow, Sonja had fought with a sword. Her speed could overtake her prey before they had time to reload. She missed the weight of it, the eagerness of a blade made by a master smith in a true warrior's hands.

Guns were sloppy and impersonal—a human weapon.

"We're ready, Sonja," Sabaas said.

Sonja nodded and scrutinized the three she had chosen for the raid. With Sabaas, there were two relatively young Lycans, changed during the upheaval of the First World War, Rolf and David. All three looked calm and seasoned. Sonja wished Lucian was going with them. But Singe had notified him of a possible Corvinus descendant and he had left for the Old World with the dawn of a new millennium. Sonja and her men were headed for a Lycan outpost in Brooklyn. There had been reports of Death Dealer activity nearby.

The incongruity of the soft music in the skyrise's private elevator amused her as the four of them did final inventory of ammunition and auxiliary weapons. She caught Sabaas's eye and the corner of his mouth lifted.

"Any word from Xavier?" he murmured. A thorny knot of emotion threatened to rob her of her warrior's glacial calm. The only hint of her displeasure was a faint twitch of muscle in her jaw.

"He checked in with Raze a couple weeks ago. A Death Dealer attacked him in Seattle." Her tone was flat, colorless. She didn't mention that she had learned this third-hand from Lucian. Damn it, that business with Rachel was fifty years ago! He was drifting without thought or purpose, just as Salem was. And Sonja was powerless. She could not fight her children's demons, no matter how much she wanted to.

_You would think a millennium-long war would be enough to capture their attention! _

"Odd that the Death Dealers would be so active during Amelia's reign," Sabaas remarked.

"Yes. Very odd," Sonja said, suspicion underpinning her tone.

The elevator lurched to stop and the four of them slipped out into the frigid night. Armed as they were, they couldn't risk taking human transportation and being noticed. Sonja could run the distance without difficulty, but her Lycan companions were not so inclined. An hour later, they at last reached the post, a liquor store in a seedy strip mall.

Something was wrong.

The neon sign was sputtering, only the 'L' and 'Q' remained illuminated. The bars over the windows were buckled from the inside. The door was busted in, creaking ominously on rusted hinges. Sonja jerked her chin in an eloquent gesture and Rolf and David melted into the night, creeping around to the back entrance. Sonja plucked her pistols from their holsters and Sabaas hefted his shotgun. An unspoken command flew between them and Sabaas hung back, a frown twisting his narrow features. Sonja nudged the door open with her shoulder, keen eyes peering into the gloom.

"Sergi? Antonio?" Sonja hissed, drawing in a quick breath. She could smell the wet, heavy smell of Lycan, and blood. Lots of it. Sabaas crept in behind her, his boots crunching on broken glass. Stumbling feet and ragged, hiccupping breathing caught her attention. Sonja blurred to the rear door leading to the supply room. Rolf burst through the door, silver discs peppering his chest.

"Run," he wheezed, then collapsed with a bloody gargle.

"Get down!" she shouted to Sabaas.

The world exploded into light and noise. Death Dealers burst from behind racks and from under counters. Sonja measured the odds: seven against two. She had had worse. Sonja took several long strides and then slid on a film of spilled liquor across the scarred linoleum, yanking Sabaas down to the ground beside her, dodging a blaze of gunfire. Bullets whizzed through the air, the faint light given off from bursts of powder enough to give away their position. The noise was deafening. Glass shattered, spilled liquor filled the air with its sting. With Sabaas for cover, she leapt up and squeezed off two quick rounds. The UV bullets did their work, if the screeching cries were enough to judge by. A smattering of wet thuds caught her attention. Sonja turned to find Sabaas flat on the ground, wounds dotting his chest.

"No!" Sonja said. A burst of machine gun fire cut her off and she ducked behind a rack. She had to get to him fast; maybe if she pulled out the silver, he could regenerate . . . There was no time for pain, or worry. She swallowed hard. The rage was gasoline on a fire, blazing through her body. She blurred behind a Death Dealer, snapped his neck with one hand. She turned, shot another in the gut, watched him fall over and writhe to ash with surge 0f a dark pleasure. A black figure braced a foot on Sabaas's body and emptied a clip into him. A snarl escaped her lips. There was no coming back from that.

Sonja leapt over the counter, and started toward the Death Dealer. Two more burst from the supply room; Sonja pivoted and fired two shots from both guns. She kept track of the last on her periphery, heard him reload his pistols. Sonja finished her spin, leveling both guns in the face of the one who killed Sabaas.

It was a she.

And she was nearly a mirror image of Sonja herself.

_Selene._

Twin pairs of ice blue eyes met with an almost electric surge of convoluted hate.

"You killed my men. You'll pay for that," Sonja swore in ringing tones.

"You killed mine. That makes us even," Selene quipped. The stalemate grated on Sonja's nerves. Her finger exerted the slightest pressure on the trigger. Her jaw clenched. The weight was off. Shit, was she out of bullets?

"You seem to know me. But who are you?" Selene demanded. Sonja arched a brow and tisked in mocking disappointment.

"Very poor manners, Selene. How many vampire traitors do you know?" Recognition flickered in Selene's coldly beautiful face.

"_You,"_ Selene snarled.

"So you've heard of me," Sonja observed, sidling a half step to the right, glancing at Sabaas out of the tail of her eye. Holes dotted his face, his dark eyes rolled back, mouth slack. He was thoroughly dead. The blind, frigid fury behind it was stark. Sonja had used no more than two rounds in the vampires she killed. Selene had emptied clips in a frenzy of rage.

Selene stared unblinking down the sight of her pistol, full mouth flattened into a hostile line. Sonja shifted another step and Selene matched her; they circled each other like master fencers, each word a testing flick of blade.

"Viktor told me about you. Most think you met the true death long ago. But Viktor told me to be vigilant," Selene spat in her low, brooding voice, fangs flashing. Sonja uttered a bark of laughter. This poor twisted child was more Viktor's slave than Sonja had ever been.

"Oh, I'm sure he did. What else did he tell you, little Selene?"

"He told me that you fornicated with animals and betrayed your own kind."

Disgust sat ill on Selene's delicate features, but the blazing hate in her eye seemed very comfortable. A faint tug of pity touched Sonja's heart. She knew what it was to twist her mind and body into a semblance that pleased Viktor. Selene kicked Sabaas' inert form.

"Was he your Lycan lover?" she sneered. Sonja's eyes flashed.

"We suffered through many hardships together. He was my friend. Not that you would know about matters of the heart."

"A vampire doesn't need a heart."

"Spoken like a true puppet. Viktor trained you well."

"Don't speak of Viktor to me!"

"Ah, ah," Sonja said, shaking her head and taking a half step forward, "what did I say about those manners? We can be sworn enemies _and_ civil, can we not?" Sonja tilted on pistol, revealing the faint blue fluorescence of the clip casing.

"A fascinating breakthrough, aren't they? UV rounds. The sun in a bullet. I could kill you with one shot. And what do you have there? Silver? Those would only sting."

Any human, and most Immortals for that matter, would be shaking in their boots under such a silkily worded threat. But not Selene. The only evidence that she was not perfectly calm was the slight tremor in her gun hands, the faintest widening of her eyes. Sonja mustered a kernel of grudging respect.

"Why don't you? If you are who you claim to be, then you are centuries older than I. Why not do it and go back to your fucking _den_?" Selene challenged.

"I want you alive, Selene. I want you alive to see the truth," Sonja replied cryptically, blazing with conviction.

_Open your eyes! See Viktor for what he truly is!_

"You know what I think?" Selene drawled, smirking in an irritatingly superior fashion.

"By all means, think for yourself," Sonja shot back.

"I think you're out of bullets."

"Let's find out, shall we?"

"Gladly."

They fired in the exact same nanosecond. Both Sonja's guns clicked empty and she twisted, swift as thought, but one of Selene's bullet grazed her shoulder, the other flew through her leather coat. She didn't wait for another exchange, but flew from the liquor store with all the speed accrued in her eight hundred years.

xxxxxxxxxx

_A/N: Ok, so how many of you were kinda pissed when Lucian was picking up chicks at the bar? I personally couldn't bear it if Lucian and Sonja had an 'open' relationship. _

_What do you think? Like it? Hate it? _

_R&R_


	11. Divergence: VIII

VIII

I don't own Underworld.

xxxxx

_Sabaas is dead. _

Salem stared at the twelve letters as if trying to decipher a foreign language. She shoved her flaxen hair off her forehead, washed an eerie bluish hue by the laptop screen balanced on her knees. Ice blue eyes scanned the rest of her mother's message about the raid, the Death Dealers, and Selene . . .

A prickle of pain caught her attention. She looked down to find her hands clenched into tight fists, knuckles white, a faint smear of red marring her palms from where her fingernails drew blood. She took in a deep, meditative breath, filling the belly, the chest as she was taught; she uttered a sustained note as she exhaled, seeking inner stillness. Her parents, her brother and her father's lieutenants thought she was crazy, abandoning her role in the war between the Vampires and the Lycans. What Salem had come to realize was that they were each products of the times were born in. Her mother loomed like the image of an ancient warrior goddess—a warrior and statesman both. Her father was the epitome of strength and quiet, determined intention, a man both admired and feared, the patriarch of a mighty race.

Xavier, born in a time of knights and gallantry, held himself to a rigid code of chivalry regardless of the present modern age. Even their enemy Selene was a product of the turbulent times from whence she came: a type and shadow of Salem's own mother, the legendary Sonja. And Salem . . . born in a time of titanic upheaval, where war divided class and race, was within herself conflicted. Her very name, meaning 'peace,' reflected even her warrior parents' weariness.

But regardless of her sophist view on the nature of her existence, and the futility of war, her family needed her.

Salem's fingers flew over the keyboard in a swift reply.

It was time she went home.

**XXX**

Selene uttered a long string of curses in her mother tongue, surveying what The Bitch had done to the other Death Dealers. She was a brilliant warrior, Selene would give her that. She had snapped the spines of two with her bare hands. The others she had burned to ash with those UV rounds of hers. How had a race as dumb and scattered as the Lycans get their furry hands on something like this?

_It must be stolen, or some sort of military prototype. The Lycans have never had technology before. _

An impotent surge of hate bubbled up and Selene stifled a growl.

The Bitch stood there in her black coat, lined with fur around the collar like all the other dogs, lecturing _her_ about Viktor? What did _she_ know about Viktor?

A small smile touched her lips as she surveyed the dead Lycans. Tit for tat. Selene gave as good as she got, even though The Bitch had five hundred years on her, at least. She was very old, very powerful, Selene could smell it on her, as thick as the scent of dog. If not the whelp Selene had killed, The Bitch had a lover among the Lycans.

Selene holstered her pistols and crouched beside the desiccated body of a Death Dealer. A discreet shudder ran through her. A hell of a way to meet the true death, burning alive in the middle of the night.

Selene wrinkled her nose as she picked her way among the Lycans, seeking a full clip of the UV bullets to take back to Kahn. She found what she sought in the blood-soaked coat of the big blond one. She picked up his SIG gingerly between two fingers, throwing it into the duffel holding her personal weapons cache. It was nearing dawn. She had return to the Coven.

She strode out and mounted her sleek black motorcycle, reaching for her cell phone.

Punching in the number to a scrambled line, she recited her code number and the address and said, "This is Selene. Send a clean up crew to this address. We've got quite a mess here." Snapping the phone shut, she donning her helmet and gunned the engine. Tires squealing and spraying gravel, she sped off into the night.

**XXX**

Lucian watched his daughter approach, critically scrutinizing the tall boots, skin-tight jeans and the shirt that left her midriff bare and proudly displayed the glittering piercing on her navel. More than this unsettling fashion and the avaricious male attention she garnered, it was cruel of her to simply run off, without so much as word to either of her parents, only sending a curt message via email six months later from somewhere in Nepal. She possessed her father's resilience with her mother's stubbornness, Sonja's fierce loyalty with none of Lucian's careful scruples. The resulting combination made her a giant wild card in the dynamics of the war. And she had inherited the blond, severe features of her grandfather. With Salem riding roughshod through the human world, it wouldn't be long before enterprising Death Dealers like Selene noticed the resemblance.

Her sharp blue eyes softened when she caught sight of him. Lucian was assaulted with the potent vision of her as a wide-eyed moppet under a cloud of golden hair, running toward him, chubby arms flung wide. The lithe, sinuously graceful tigress that moppet had grown into dropped her bags and threw pale, muscular arms around his neck. Lucian's jaw clenched against a sudden rush of emotion.

One embrace and he forgot all of the lectures he had planned to say, every single word of rebuke.

"Papa," she whispered in his ear.

"Salem."

After a long moment, he disengaged her arms from around his neck and pecked kisses on the backs of her hands before dropping them. He bent and snatched up her luggage. They spoke of flat, banal things as they wove their way through the throngs of humans to a sleek black sedan. Lucian signaled the driver and watched Salem out of the tail of his eye.

She stiffened slightly at the sight of Singe, who sat obliviously flipping through a yellow legal pad scribbled with notes on the line of Corvinus, muttering to himself in German. His virtuous daughter, she took umbrage against Singe's Nazi origin, and the fact that Lucian had given him immortality in exchange for helping to find the missing link, the third Corvinus son that would end the war. Raze sat hunched beside Singe, and greeted Salem with a murmured word.

"I'm sorry about Sabaas," Salem said.

Raze nodded, directing his gaze out the window, his strong dark features tight. Lucian's jaw clenched. Six hundred years had done much to loosen old knots of anger, and Sabaas had earned Lucian's trust and goodwill in a thousand different ways. The fact that he was gone—Sabaas, the last of the Lycans who had served as slaves all those centuries ago—was like waking one morning to find a world missing a cardinal point, one you trusted and relied upon, but taken for granted.

"Where's Mom?" grateful for the change in subject, Lucian grabbed her hand and squeezed it, hearing Sonja's deliberate nonchalance in her tone.

"She and Xavier are going to meet us in Brasov. We need to pay a visit to an old friend."

Salem ventured a smile, her thin, mobile lips carving twin dimples into her cheeks. The air of constrained shyness and courtesy, one hiding deep emotion, was very familiar to Lucian. It was how he had fallen in love with Sonja. But this one, he thought, was made by choice. Salem and Xavier both had _chosen_ to shake off their duty to plunder the world's pleasures. Feckless children! By the moon, she was so much like her mother!

The sedan slid to a stop and Lucian leaned forward, peering out the heavily tinted windows to find a dim overpass. How had they wandered so far out of the way without his noticing? Lucian's hand wandered to the butt of his pistol. Salem and Raze both discreetly reached for their weapons. Singe's brown eyes peered, oddly magnified by thick glasses, fastened quizzically on the drawn weapons. Immortal blood had done very little to alter Singe's bookish proclivities.

"Why have we stopped?" he demanded of the driver in curt Romanian. He didn't answer. Lucian repeated the question. When the man still didn't answer, Lucian drew his pistol and pressed the barrel against his temple.

"Answer me," he hissed.

The man's pale, pudgy fingers lifted from the steering wheel. Lucian watched the leaping pulse at the man's throat. He was combat trained—even with a gun to his head, he was as steady as a rock. How had he not noticed that before? Damn it, he needed to stop fawning over his daughter and pay attention! Lucian cocked the weapon.

"Start talking or this gun will speak for you." The driver swiveled in his seat, bringing the bland, narrow face of any faceless pan-European into view.

"I was instructed to convey a message on behalf of my employer to Lucian. Is that you?"

The muscles of his gut seized up.

"I am he," Lucian admitted.

Kraven had betrayed them. How else would this fucking _human_ know of him? At the sound of his name on a stranger's lips, both Raze and Salem drew their own weapons. Salem's eyes glowed the unearthly pale blue, her beautiful face set in an expression of deadly stillness. She resembled Viktor so strongly that Lucian felt the scar on his arm itch from the remnant of a slave's brand. So strange to see his hated enemy's thin, severe features set with such startling inerrancy in the beautiful visage of his daughter.

"Choose your words carefully," Salem snarled.

The driver's dark eyes darted from hostile face to hostile face, resting with a vague fascination on Salem. Lucian's finger tightened on the trigger ever so slightly. He _recognized_ her. The man saw the evidence of his intent in his face, for he said, "My employer is Lorenz Macaro. He would like to speak with you. You and your wife, Sonja."

"Who are you? Who is this Macaro? And how do you know us?" Lucian demanded. Something like a smile touched the driver's fat lips.

"My employer is very well informed."

"I'll bet he is," Lucian sneered.

"I am just a messenger, Sir. Would you like me to take you to him? He can give you the answers you seek."

**XXX**

Xavier's fingers tapped a nervous tattoo on his thigh, trapped in the agony of waiting, dreading the look on his mother's face when they were reunited after . . . how long had it been? Ten, twenty years since he'd seen her, or Father, or Salem? And in that interim, he had been a true asshole, not calling or writing like any decent son would. The great Sonja was not one to nag, but he squirmed under the threat of her acidic sense of humor.

He felt the curious weight of a teenage girl's gaze as the subway screamed through its murky tunnels. Out of the tail of his eye, he saw the starkly pale face, the dyed black hair, augmented by thick mascara and startlingly red lipstick. The rest of her ensemble and pentagram necklace confirmed the peculiar cult of modern youth fascinated with the occult.

A devilish impulse seized him and a discreet moment of concentration lengthened his dual fangs. When he felt her eyes fasten on him, he turned and offered a charming, toothy smile. The girl's brown eyes flew wide, her red mouth dropped open. They emerged from the tunnel and warm sunlight bathed his shoulders. He regretted the brief sense of devilish pleasure at the insistent thought of his mother. In the centuries on this continent, he had seen his mother burned by the sun only once. The revolting sizzle of her flesh was permanently inscribed in his psyche.

The subway screeched to a stop and Xavier quickly disembarked, weaving his way through the noisy, pungent throngs of chattering humanity to the surface. His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and flicked it open, recognizing his mom's number with a jolt of panic. He was on his way to meet her . . .

"Xavier, I just got a call from your father. Something's happened; he won't tell me what it is until we get there. I've never heard him so upset. I-" Xavier backed into an alley, hearing the fear ring tinnily through the phone connection. The mighty Sonja, afraid? The mind boggled.

"Hey Mom, slow down! Is Salem ok?" Xavier asked.

"She's fine. She's with him."

"Are they hostages or something?" It was a long-shot. What sort of idiot would leave their prisoners their cell phones?

"I don't think so. Just go to JFK and book us the first flight to Brasov. I'll be there soon." Xavier squinted into the clear blue sky, adorned with the blazing jewel of the sun. She had to be joking. It wasn't even noon yet!

"No way, Mom. It's too bright," he hissed into the phone.

"I'll survive." Was her laconic reply.

"Bullshit! You won't be doing Father any favors if you get yourself burned to a fucking crisp!"

"Watch your mouth!" Mom snapped. Xavier struck the brick wall of a nearby building impotently.

"All right, damn it. Just . . . just wait an hour or two, at least. It will take me that long to get out of the city. The shade should be deep enough by then. Promise you won't do something stupid, ok?"

"That's my line, Junior," she drawled and Xavier chuckled.

"D'you promise?"

"I promise. Oh, and Xavier?" she caught him as he was about to end the conversation.

"Yeah, Mom? What is it?"

"It's good to hear your voice. I've missed you." Damn, how was it that she could make him feel like he was child again in the space of a sentence? Erase the past six hundred years as if it was nothing. Mom magic, he guessed.

"I've missed you too. I'm . . . I'm sorry I've been such an ass lately."

"Yes, you have been an ass," she agreed, in that faint sophisticated accent, making the words more starkly vulgar by contrast. Xavier grunted.

"But I still love you."

"I love you too," he muttered.

"You have until two o' clock before I make a break for it. Hurry up, son."

"Yes ma'am!"

**XXX**

The _Sancta Helena_ moored in an obscure harbor in the port city of Constanta was a picture of austerity and magnificence. Lucian trailed after their driver, past several armed men, their casual grace with their weaponry suggesting ex-military, but human. Raze loomed to his right, Salem at his left, and Singe trailing behind. Lucian gnawed on the puzzle of Lorenz Macaro's identity through the winding corridors of the ship.

At last, their driver heaved open an iron door to the captain's quarters. A sweep of his hand and a smug grin gave their small party of Immortals leave to enter the chamber. Lucian rankled under the implied burden of hospitality and his own utter confusion. After six hundred years, he was unaccustomed to subordinance, but he remembered the sensation, deep in his bones. Lucian strode into the room, a curt glance taking in the sharp beauty of wrought iron lattices, sylvan tapestries and the rich, marbled darkness of the wooden desk. His gaze settled on the man with his back to them staring out the window with long, pale hands clasped behind his back.

"Lucian, Sir, and ah, his friends," the driver said, the gloating triumph tinged with a wary glance at Salem. _Wise man,_ Lucian thought. Most humans quailed at the sight of Raze's massive bulk. But Salem's temper was a sight more unstable, another quality she inherited from her mother. His cell phone chirped in his pocket and he hoped Sonja had found a flight. He grimaced at the taut panic in her voice. In the mood she was in, she might _swim_ if human means of travel failed her.

"Thank you, Wilhelm. That will be all." Macaro's voice was cultured, with the faint trace of an accent that Lucian could not place.

The door slammed closed with echoing finality and Macaro pivoted to face them. Lucian scrutinized the face of Romanesque austerity, the vivid blue eyes, the white hair. He was not vampire—Lucian could hear his heart beating from where he stood—but neither was he Lycan. Lucian could smell his own kind.

"I must say, your methods are unorthodox, my friend," Lucian said, folding his arms over his chest, "a simple phone call would have sufficed."

The faint suggestion of a smile touched Macaro's thin lips.

"I apologize for any rudeness, Lucian. I am old-fashioned. I prefer speaking face to face. Sonja, I take it, is on her way?" Protest quivered on his tongue on speaking their names so familiarly, but he bit them back. Instead he reached for the phone and read Xavier's curt text.

"Yes. She and my son will arrive by this evening." The electric blue of Macaro's eyes sharpened at this. He rubbed his hands together briskly.

"Excellent."

"Are you ever going to explain how you know us and why you've brought us here?" Salem demanded, hands planted on her hips. Macaro's eyes grazed over Raze and Singe with a scant nod of respect and settled on Salem with a cool, enigmatic regard that Lucian could not decipher.

"All in due time, my dear. I would prefer to wait until all concerned parties are present. In the meantime, you are my guests. Make yourselves comfortable. I will speak to you this evening when our intrepid travelers arrive."

With that, Macaro returned his gaze to the view of the harbor, effectively dismissing them. Lucian rankled, reminded all too easily of this empty, burning anger and helplessness he had felt as a slave. The door screeched open again and their driver, Wilhelm, appeared.

"This way."

He glanced at Raze. The larger man shrugged slightly. Lucian caught Salem's eye and gave her a slight nod as he followed Wilhelm. The enigma of Lorenz Macaro would have to wait until Sonja arrived, and frankly, Lucian would be grateful to have her at his side. There was no other opinion he trusted more.

Hours slipped by in the sumptuous quarters afforded them in their tenuous capacity of 'guest.' Singe was happily occupied with his notes and his genealogy charts. Lucian, Raze and Salem spoke in hushed tones over innocuous things. Perhaps it was paranoia, but a tacit pact lingered that they should not discuss strategy where an enemy may be listening. Salem could not sit still. She rose and paced the length of the room, back and forth, back and forth in restless turns. _Ah, youthful impatience,_ Lucian thought, vaguely amused.

At last, after night had fallen, Salem stopped her pacing and stood frozen like doe testing the wind. What connected him and Sonja plucked and quivered as she neared. He knew her words before she said them.

"Mom and Xavier are here."

"Should we go outside?" Raze rumbled. Lucian considered this for a moment.

"Yes. We are not Macaro's prisoners, nor his employees. Come."

Lucian was sharply aware of the faint mechanical buzz of cameras swiveling to watch them as they made their way to the surface—but luckily for them, they remained unmolested. Dancing sheets of rain pattered musically onto the rusted storage containers along the peer, and made small explosions of brown droplets in the mud. A sleek black sports car purred beside their black sedan. The engine died and a blur of motion no human eye could follow, both Xavier and Sonja emerged from the car, clad for battle in fur-lined coats and leather.

Sonja's spectral blue eyes took in Macaro's guards and possible sniper vantage points before settling on him. The curt up-and-down assured her that he was whole and unharmed. Words flew unspoken between them, of love and assurance, as they had in the days where their love could have spelled death for the both of them. Confident of his wholeness, Sonja's eyes grazed Raze in warm acknowledgment before settling on Salem. The bramble of emotion in her eyes was too tangled for even Lucian to decipher, and oddly, was so brilliantly vulnerable that he felt as if he was intruding.

To cover the feeling and to give his two women a more private reunion, Lucian looked to his son. The picture of quiet, watchful attention, his hazel eyes wandered over the scene, his hand never leaving the butt of his pistol.

"Xavier," a wealth of mixed joy and censure colored his tone. Despite Xavier being several inches taller, Lucian's steely will and air of authority was enough to bring any rebellious Lycan to heel. No slouch at reading tones, Xavier accepted both with grace.

"Father," he replied with a faint smile. His brown hair was wrangled into a stubby ponytail, one stubborn strand plastered by the rain to his forehead.

"How serious is this? Should I have brought back-up?" Xavier asked. Lucian was grateful for the brass tacks of strategy and war. Far less complicated than talking about convoluted emotional excess with his grown son after years of separation.

"It's nothing the five of us can't handle. All of Macaro's men are human. And Macaro himself . . . he may be a problem. He is . . . something. Something I've never seen before."

"Well then, let's go see what he wants with us." Sonja suggested.

"Agreed."

**XXX**

This Lorenz Macaro opened the door himself and ushered them in with blandishments of hospitality. Sonja followed Lucian inside, grateful for his health. The hellish hours of that trans-Atlantic flight, staring at the small, inert weight of her phone, willing it to ring . . . Salem and Xavier trailed in after her and she relished the brief rush of joy at her family's wholeness. Decades spent separated by oceans was very trying.

"Lucian, Sonja, forgive me, but the matters I have to discuss I would vastly prefer to only relate to your family. Your associates are welcome to any room in the ship while they wait." Singe and Raze glanced from Macaro to Lucian, who considered Macaro's injunction. He nodded and the two Lycans were led by armed humans away.

"Come in, all of you, refresh yourselves. It is my pleasure to be your host. There is food by the fireplace, if you are hungry, Xavier, as well as something to suit your more particular tastes, Sonja. I must apologize, I have nothing to offer but synthetic blood." Her gut clenched. By the stars, how did he _know_? And who the hell was _he_? With terrifying ease, she shoved back the tide of emotion and donned the tight, politician's mask she had worn for decades as a Council member.

"That will do just fine, thank you," she replied, accepting a gently steaming glass from the table. The flicker of the firelight through the rich red of the blood was like the pulse of a beating heart.

Xavier's betrayed him, thundering swift in agitation. She caught his eye and gave a spare nod of assurance. _Steady, son._ she thought. He returned it and relaxed, hands folded behind his back as if to capture the warmth of the fire. In actuality, his hand was on the grip of the pistol shoved down the back of his jeans. Sonja drank and her lips curved.

"98.6. The perfect temperature." Macaro laughed as if it was their secret joke. He was not human. Of that much she was certain. His poise in the presence of Immortals was unfathomable in a human. And there was something, beneath the veneer of tidy civility, a sort of . . . primal majesty.

Salem from her place draped across a chaise lounge, waved a slender arm to get their attention.

"As interesting as it is listening to the two of you banter back and forth, can you _please_ tell us what's going on?" Macaro smiled thinly and leaned back in his chair behind the desk that looked suspiciously like the Resolute desk's twin.

"Of course, Salem." Though his tone was tinged with humor, the blue eyes remained distant, like the sharp heart of ice on a mountaintop.

Macaro folded his hands on the desk and Sonja caught sight of the ring on his little finger. The flicker of the fire burnished the gold and spat fire from the ruby affixed at the center of an intricate knot of filigree design.

"Please indulge me for a moment," Macaro said, his icy regard sliding from each of her children, over her and finally landing on Lucian.

"I place my questions to you, Lucian, 'the most feared and ruthless leader ever to rule the Lycan clan,' as the vampires call you." Lucian's generous mouth quirked in that tiny smile that she loved.

"I believe I have well earned the moniker." Macaro's smile matched his.

"Indeed you have. You have made Viktor pay for his treachery in blood. Rivers and oceans of blood." Sonja stiffened at the implied judgment in his tone. It was so strange to listen to an outsider comment on the intricacies of their politics.

"But the vampires think that you are dead. Thanks mostly to the ambition of Kraven."

Sonja deduced the point of his queries and blurred behind him and placed her hands on either side of his head, deceptively gentle. The slightest twist of her arms and she could tear his head off.

"I must warn you, Sir, that it is very unwise to threaten us with exposure," she crooned, noting absently that the strong throb of his pulse at the angle of his jaw was wholly unchanged. Had she needed anymore proof that he wasn't human, that clinched it.

"And I must reply, Madame, that it is most unwise to threaten _me_. I also apologize. It was not my intention to threaten you. Quite the contrary. I am here to help you."

Sonja glanced at Lucian and saw irritation in them. Directed solely at her, judging by the angry prickling across their bond. _Rash and reckless as ever,_ she thought. _Salem comes by it honestly._ Sonja hated it when Lucian was angry with her, and she released Macaro and leaned her hip against the desk.

"My question for you, Lucian, is: What is your plan?" Lucian arched a brow.

"My plan?"

"If you succeed in this venture of yours, what will you do?"

"If I win the war, and kill Viktor?" under Sonja's close scrutiny, she watched Macaro's features tighten. He raised one pale finger.

"Not only Viktor. To win, you would have to destroy all of the Elders, Amelia . . . and Markus."

"Yes, all of the Elders and probably the Council too. When that is accomplished, I . . . we-" Lucian trailed off, looking helplessly at her. She smiled gently.

After war and struggle for so long, even in hiding, even 'laying low,' war was still war, and they had lost so much, so many loved ones gone. This struggle had lasted for the better part of a millennium. To think of peace was to yearn for something that could be centuries away. So they both had done what they had practiced so well in her father's castle fortress—living day by day, not daring to think beyond the next raid, beyond the next hiding place for fear of the gentle demon of hope coming to torture them.

"We would be content," Sonja said, "All we've ever wanted is to live in a world where we may be together in peace with our children."

"And the human world?" Macaro demanded.

"What of it?" Lucian and Sonja said in unison.

"Viktor and the vampires view humans as little more than cattle to be used and tossed aside, subjects to be conquered. One of the conditions of my assistance is that you leave the human world unmolested. We are oddities of nature, you and I. This world belongs to the humans."

"This world is theirs to rule or destroy as they see fit," Lucian said quietly, "They are not our concern."

"And you, Lady Vampire?" Macaro drawled, his icy eyes fixing her in place. Sonja hardened under his scrutiny, thorny and defensive. It wasn't her fault she had been born this way!

"I have no interest in them beyond the needs of sustenance. Unlike Viktor, I take no pleasure in cruelty; in this modern age I may drink my fill without killing," Sonja snapped. The man had the gall to smile, exposing small white teeth.

"Very well. I would expect no less from you, Lady Sonja. Bravery and honor took their cues from you." Not one to be wooed by flattery, Sonja simply smiled at Macaro's words.

"We have answered your questions, Sir, and we do not even know your true name. You are not simply Lorenz Macaro of Constanta," Xavier pointed out.

"You have been more than patient." Macaro braced his spread fingers on the desk surface, rising to his feet. The ring caught her eye again, and this time she dissected the pattern. The paradigm shifted in her mind's eye and a cold ripple of shock echoed through her. When she spoke, her voice was strangely strangled.

"You are Alexander Corvinus."

Xxxxxxx

_A/N: I'm sorry it took so long to post this. An elusive muse and finals are to blame. I will finish this! I promise!_


	12. Divergence: IX

IX

_I don't own Underworld._

xxxxxx

The room was utterly silent, save for the crackling of the fire. Lucian checked the impulse to kneel. Sonja's words solved the enigma, and explained the authority he wore as well as his dark tailored coat.

Alexander Corvinus, the father of the vampires and the Lycans, the firstborn of the Immortals.

"Yes, Lady Sonja you are too quick by half. In my time, I was a powerful warlord until a plague destroyed my village. My three sons and I were the only ones to survive. They did not have a name for it then, but now we know that it was a virus that mutated our DNA. A . . . side effect was immortality. I believe you know at least some of the story."

"Markus was bitten by a bat, and William by a wolf. Thus were the two new races of Immortals, until Father was born . . . Sir." Xavier volunteered, tacking on the honorific as an afterthought.

Lucian fought a smile. None of them knew how to treat him. Did he expect their deference? Sonja made her way over the table and reclaimed her glass, throwing back the blood like a shot. When her eyes met his, they were a glittering blue.

"Quite right, Xavier." Corvinus answered and his frigid gaze swiveled to Lucian.

"Your father's birth was a strange twist of fate. And even stranger, that the daughter of Viktor would love such a man, after being brought up to believe his kind were vermin to be used and crushed."

"Put it down to his charm," Sonja drawled, slipping her hand into Lucian's. He snorted at this. It was on the tip of his tongue to make a ribald comment on the nature of their affair at first, but he refrained. Corvinus' gelid eyes wandered to Xavier and Salem and sharpened.

"Sonja and Lucian, you have within you the power to perform miracles. Vampire and Lycan both. The Hybrid. The future. This is what your German companion has been trying to create, no?"

"Singe has been searching for the proper carrier, yes," Lucian replied.

"From my bloodline," Corvinus added.

"Yes."

Corvinus plucked a slim manilla folder from his desk and waved it.

"Perhaps I may be of some assistance in that search. I like to keep tabs on persons of interest, including my own descendants. This one . . . Michael Corvin. He could be of some use to you."

Salem unfolded her slim form from the couch where she reclined and slinked to where Alexander Corvinus stood, brazen and beautiful—looking every inch the granddaughter of Viktor. Sonja's hand tightened on his. They shared a quick glance, words flying through their bond. Their daughter plucked the folder from his grasp and measured him with her ice blue eyes. Corvinus' snow white eyebrow rose.

"Is there something you wish to say, child?"

"Yeah, I have a question or two," Salem snapped.

"Salem," Sonja warned. A small muscle under their daughter's eye twitched, but she did not acknowledge her mother's plea.

"For example: Why have you not intervened before now? Why did you stand back and watch as your sons wreaked havoc on this world? If you care so much for the humans, why did you not smother Markus in his crib?"

Corvinus remained blandly composed, the only clue to his agitation a faint twitch of cheek.

"Ask your mother." Corvinus' gelid and Salem's more turbulent blue gaze swiveled to Sonja.

"Lady Sonja, did it ever occur to you to crush the life out of Xavier as a babe, or even before when he slept within you? Had you done so, I'm sure Viktor would have tidily disposed of both the evidence and the pest of your Lycan lover. You would have regained your position in vampiric society, and the love of your father. All if you had simply destroyed this one life."

The offense and indignance that had shivered through Sonja at the first words of his speech subsided into acceptance. Sonja looked at their son and smiled gently.

"It is no question at all, Sir. It never once occurred to me, nor would I have entertained the idea if it had. No parent would." An icy echo rang in the stillness: One parent had. One parent had spent the last six hundred years seeking to expunge any memory of his offspring's existence. Lucian tightened his grip on Sonja's hand. Understanding knifed across Salem's severe features.

"After all this, you love them," she whispered. Corvinus bowed his head.

"I . . . I cannot raise my hand against my sons. But I will aid you however I can. It may be a subtle distinction, but it is nevertheless an important one to my notion of honor . . . and love."

"We welcome your assistance, and honor your sacrifice," Lucian murmured. Corvinus' brilliant, diamond-hard eyes met his and the smallest suggestion of a smile twitched under the smoky beard.

"I thank you."

A strange, half abashed expression flitted across Corvinus' severe features.

"There is one more thing I would like to ask of you." Lucian shared a glance with Sonja and saw amusement warm her hazel eyes.

"Yes? What would that be?" Sonja asked. Corvinus turned to Xavier and Salem.

"My request is of the two hybrids. I have seen all manner of vampire and Lycan in my time, but . . . would I be overstepping my bounds by asking for a private demonstration of your gifts? Or is your transformation bound by the moon?" Xavier smirked.

"No. We are bound by nothing. The sun, the moon, our strength is untarnished." The glittering brightness of Salem's blue eyes glinted with humor.

"I would be happy to transform for you, Sir."

"Excellent!" Corvinus said, rubbing his hands together briskly.

The next few moments saw Xavier divesting himself of his coat, shoulder holster and shirt. Salem followed suit, peeling off her boots, coat, and shirt until she stood in those revealing scraps of colored lace the only vestiges of modesty. While Lucian was largely indifferent to the fashions populating the human world, to see his daughter so scantily clad gave him cause to pay greater attention. He cut a sharp glance at Corvinus.

_If he even looks at her cross-eyed, I'll tear him to pieces, Father of all Immortals or no!_ he thought.

Thankfully, all that the old Immortal's gaze held was clinical interest.

"Ladies first," Xavier offered with a gallant sweep of his hand. Salem's eyes crackled with mock anger.

"Don't patronize me, dear brother. We both know who is the stronger fighter." Xavier folded his leanly muscled arms over his chest and snorted.

"Keep dreaming, and quit stalling! Transform already!"

With one last saucy glance, she tossed her blond mane over her shoulder and relaxed. Lucian, who had seen the changes of Lycan and hybrid alike, was long immune to the nuances of it. But as Alexander Corvinus looked on, Lucian saw it through fresh eyes. The slithering of muscle rippling under her creamy white skin, the sickening crack as her slender bones broke and expanded to house larger organs and support thicker muscle, the sprouting of a dense ruff of black fur at the crown of her head, flaring between her shoulder blades, then draping like a mantle around her breasts.

Her skin darkened to a grayish black hue, her long fingers lengthened into talons, dual fangs sprouted in her mouth. Seams popped and holes tore in her jeans to accommodate the thickened muscles of thigh and calf. Then her transformation was complete, her blue eyes blazing from their bony sockets. Her face was still severe and beautiful, if a baser, more savage beauty, the acknowledgement of her predatory prowess. Salem was more Lycan in appearance than vampire, while Xavier was the opposite. Speaking of which . . . the muted grunts and snarls and the snapping of bone heralded Xavier beginning his own change. Soon, they both stood in their changed forms, waiting politely for Corvinus' reaction. Lucian squeezed Sonja's captive hand, radiating his love and pride through their bond. A discreet caress of finger was her reciprocated feelings.

"Remarkable. All of the power and predatory instinct of the Lycan, yet with the icy control of a vampire. Very well done. I am satisfied. I am certain there are some extra clothes somewhere on my ship. You are welcome to them." In perfect sync, Xavier and Salem bowed, and took their leave.

Once his children had returned, now respectably clad in an eclectic mix of fatigues and their spared street clothes, the five of them spent the next hour dissecting tactical information that would have taken months of assemble by conventional methods. The date was set and the plan was made for the final attack. In four years, when Amelia arrived from the Old World Coven to awaken Markus, then would be the time to strike.

**XXX**

The moldering ruin of a monastery that was Andreas Tannis' exile had vastly improved with the Lycan's intervention. Sonja privately thought Lucian had been far too generous in offering Lycan guards, and an unlimited supply of blood, _and_ vampire women _and_ the technical equipment necessary to build their weapons. The wrought iron gate gave way under Salem's taloned hands with a petulant screech of abused metal. Both of her children were in their wolf forms, not because there was any threat of danger from Tannis, his Lycan guards, or an unknown enemy, but because the impossible blending of two Immortal species scared a scholar like Tannis out of his wits.

"Xavier, if you please," Sonja offered, with a wave of her hand toward Tannis' impressive door.

A quick grin offered a flash of white fangs, startling against the black of his lips, and strong fists slammed against the door in three precise knocks. The termite-ridden wood groaned, but remained obstinately solid. Sonja's keen hearing plucked out the patter of Tannis' footsteps from the hushing whisper of the lashing wind through the trees, the thunder of the rain and the faint creaking and settling of old stones.

Soon, Tannis' thin, rodent-like face appeared, eyes glittering blue and mouth hanging open in shock at the sight of the triad before him. He recovered quickly, and quipped, "Sonja. How nice of you to drop by."

"Tannis," she replied with a gracious nod.

"Please come in," Tannis shoved the door wide enough for the three of them to enter single file. Salem greatly enjoyed her role, adding a snarl just to watch him jump. Sonja bit her lip to stifle a smile.

She, Xavier and Salem followed Tannis through the halls of his exile and Sonja found herself ruminating on her rival—her replacement, Selene. What a waste of Selene's talents to be Viktor's lapdog. Details of her existence were nearly as hard to find as the story of Lucian's rise, especially after Tannis' exile and Viktor's propaganda swiftly replacing fact. What secret pain did she hide behind that seething hate? Her loyalty to Viktor was too complete to be from anything but love. The withered husk of Sonja's love for her father remembered his particular talent of restraint sprinkled with unexpected tenderness. Her hungry heart waited for scraps of affection, and was exultant—_grateful_—when she received whatever crumbs he chose to gave her. These isolated moments reinforced the lonely child's mental arguments that his cruelty was justified. Sonja mentally replayed her exchange with Selene.

_A vampire doesn't need a heart. _One of Viktor's favorite maxims whenever Sonja dared voice a desire for mercy. Sonja listened to the breath and heartbeat of her children and praised whatever power ruled the world that she and Lucian had won their freedom. Though her heart didn't beat, it loved with the ferocity of a lioness. That same capacity for love lived in Selene. It would touch her eventually.

A vampire whore lay draped across Tannis' rumpled bed, the fur robe she wore not concealing a thing. Upon seeing the two hybrids and Sonja, she scurried away, spilling the goblet of blood she held on the white sheets. Tannis didn't pause to notice, but sauntered to a sideboard and pouring steaming blood from a silver carafe. A priceless relic, Sonja noticed, mid-thirteenth century English. She had always wondered what had become of King John's lost treasure. As he imbibed a sip, his oily gaze grazed over her.

"Sonja, still whelping I see." The delicate disgust in this offhand remark made her bristle. Xavier uttered a rolling growl, eloquent with warning. Sonja watched Tannis' fingers tighten on the cup.

"Tannis. As much a coward as I remember," Sonja drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. Hazel eyes flicked over the two hybrids.

"If we are to conduct business, I would vastly prefer to do so without two wolves stinking up the place with their fur and their breath." Sonja arched a brow.

"You didn't seem to mind their fur or their breath when my husband was offering you their protection."

Tannis' lips pursed at this, but he did not deny it. His position was entirely dependent on their goodwill, but he also knew that without him, the Lycans would be without perhaps the greatest weapon against the vampires since the dawn of the War. It was a stalemate, and Sonja had no choice to accede to his preferences. She shrugged at her children and watched in fascination as they shrank back into their human forms.

Soon Xavier stood bare-chested, gleaming with a sheen of rainwater, his brown hair hanging in thick ropes and the ripped jeans riding low on lean hips. He had the same taut musculature as his father, spread over a six foot three frame. Sonja pulled Salem's shirt from within the voluminous depths of her leather coat and handed it to her. The black tights hugged the slender lines of her legs and miraculously didn't tear as she changed. As Sonja admired her children, she realized that human and Immortal alike would throw themselves at their feet if they even offered them an inkling of interest.

"That must be some sort of crime to cover breasts that exquisite," Tannis remarked as Salem slithered into the long-sleeved rust-hued sweater.

"Fuck you," Salem replied in a savage undertone, raking her fingers through the soaked cascade of blond hair. A knife-thin grin darted across Tannis' severe features.

"Are you comfortable now, Tannis? Shall we get down to business?" Sonja said.

**XXX**

Selene thanked the stars that Kraven was away from the Coven as she rose from her hated bed that denied her rest. His attentions ground on her last nerve in their controlling, puppyish persistence. She hoped that one day he would realize Erica's willingness and leave her the hell alone. Viktor's chosen regent was currently in the Old World at Amelia's Coven. Currying favor however he could, the slimy weakling. As it was, the Coven was quiet as the sun's rays shone outside.

Lethargy made her crabby, and the memory of the altercation with The Bitch only worsened her mood. The woman lurked in her dreams, taunting her as Selene rested in the daylight hours. A burning urgency gnawed at her gut. The Bitch was at the crux of something big. The Alpha female of a den of Lycans perhaps? The thought gave her a heady rush of excitement, her fingertips tingling in excitement. Her purpose, the reason for existence was to hunt those stinking dogs down and slaughter them. The scent of their hot animal blood was her favorite scent in the world.

As she crept soft-footed on the thick carpets, meandering aimlessly, the vampire Covenant floated through her mind. Of the three principle laws, the first two concerning secrecy and dealing with their sworn enemies Selene did not find hardship in obeying. The third, however . . . She stopped outside the Coven's library. The Bitch's words rang in her head, mocking her.

_I want you alive, Selene. I want you alive to see the truth._ Truth? _What_ truth?

_**No vampire shall delve into the past.**_

Selene's hand closed on the door handle.

**XXX**

After the adventures in the Old World, Xavier was grateful to return to their previous routine of 'lying low.' For the past fifty years or so, lying low had involved wandering aimlessly without any thought or purpose. The somber weight of Alexander Corvinus' existence made him realize that his years of moping and angst filled loneliness were selfish at best, indulgent and destructive at worst. He felt awake and alert for the first time in a quarter of a century. It was time to sharpen the hell up.

Xavier parked his truck outside a small house in an older neighborhood outside of Seattle. A nice, quiet place, the sort where children played in the yards and driveways and joggers waved as they walked their dogs. Now, windows glowed a soft gold as night deepened. Those playing kids were probably doing homework and the joggers watching television.

Xavier got out and slammed the creaking door shut. He groped in the pocket of his jacket for the pack of smokes. He rattled the foil-lined packet and found one lone cigarette in the pack. As the sweet smoke curled in his lungs, he crossed the yard and plucked the 'For Sale' sign from the dirt with it's 'Sold' placard hanging over it and tossed it in the back of his truck. One of the benefits of being Immortal was the nearly unlimited resources at his disposal. Between the four of them, there were dozens of accounts under fully fledged identities each with its own hefty bank balance. Definitely enough for this bachelor pad on the coast and a pack of cigarettes.

As he swung the key the realtor gave him around his index finger, he contemplated the sky. It was a clear night, and the light of the city blotted out all but the brightest stars. Overshadowing the stars and the artificial glow of the city was the moon, ripe and full like some divine fruit. Hunger stirred in his belly, the ancient hunger to change and howl to the moon like his father's people. The crackling energy in his muscles demanded release. Xavier ground the spent butt of his cigarette on his driveway and swung two laden duffles over his shoulders—his personal weapons cache and security equipment.

By the time the moon had fully risen, Xavier's house was fortified to his liking and he was ready to hunt. The vampire hierarchy outside of the two great Covens consisted mostly of scattered clusters or rouges. Neither group was stupid enough to hunt in a suburban area. No, rather pluck off an unwary traveler in the thick of the city. This was where he sought them. Shoving his SIG—freshly loaded with Tannis' UV rounds—into the back of his pants and shrugging his leather jacket over it, he hunched against the cold and the biting wind. Xavier stalked up and down streets, waiting intently for the telltale cold prickle up his spine.

Hours ticked by and frustration gnawed at him. The restless hunting instinct persisted, a throbbing hungry thing inside him. At this young hour of the night, vampires were usually picking off commuters like choice tidbits at a buffet. What the hell had scared them off? Dissatisfied, he wandered farther afield in search of prey. Later, he found that he had wandered to a more affluent portion of town. Near the shining gridlock of downtown, this was where the business types came to unwind. A woman stepped out of a taxi and Xavier abruptly forgot about hunting vampires.

She was the sleek, business type in a smooth black suit that fell in crisp, flattering lines down her body, her ruffled blouse a flare of fiery color. But was the just the trappings. Xavier reacted immediately and viscerally to the soft curves and swells of her, the loose, silky fall of her auburn hair. He hardened at the sight of her. She turned toward the cab with the faint click of heels on the pavement and handed a few bills to the taxi driver. Xavier studied her profile from his place lurking in the shadows. The smooth slope of forehead, the cute upturned nose, the luscious curve of her lip . . . God, he wanted her! He was awake and alert, all right. And starving for her. The vampires could thank their lucky stars that this angel had attracted his attention! His beauty entered an upscale restaurant.

_Probably meeting a date, _he thought and scowled. Not if he had anything to say about it!

Xavier took two long strides toward the door in pursuit and caught a glimpse of himself in the restaurant's front casement. Brown hair hanging in unruly strands in his face, a black t-shirt and his leather jacket, ripped jeans and sneakers completed the ensemble. His beauty would not appreciate such rude hands on her pressed suit. His fevered brain presented a pleasant image of him pinning her against a wall, pressed slacks torn to shreds, exposing creamy white thighs to the ferocious pounding of his lust . . . Xavier shook himself. He couldn't just burst in there, scoop her up, drag her to a hotel and stake his claim to her. Navigating the waters of courtesy and passion in this modern age was treacherous. He glanced at his watch. A quarter past ten. He took several moments to find his bearings and loped toward Seattle's shopping districts. Maybe there was a shop still open. He had to dazzle her.

**XXX**

Mara wove in and out of the press of bodies to the bar. At the end of a hectic workweek, the very last thing on her list was a date. But she had acceded to Erin's incessant pestering as she had ever since they were two bookish teenagers in high school.

_He's cute and smart with a good job, at least one of the top five._ This was said with a saucy wink and Mara allowed a reluctant grin to calm the jittery nerves. Erin referred of course, to Mara's List, the compilation of attributes for her future husband. First a catalog of girlish hopes, over the years it had evolved into a manifesto warding against Mara's failed relationships. She took a seat at the bar and peered through the dimness, searching for the form of her blind date.

"What can I get for you?" asked the bartender.

"Just water for me, please," Mara murmured.

The first date went a long way to determining if the amorphous 'he'—Jake, his name was—was List-worthy. How he handled his booze for instance. The glass of water was set delicately on a crimson napkin and Mara hastily took a sip, her throat dry. It had been a long time since she'd dated anyone, longer still since she'd been intimately involved. Brad felt like he belonged in another lifetime. Minutes ticked by with Mara alternating between sipping her water and glancing surreptitiously at her watch. A tick on her mental list. Jake was late.

"Double bourbon, please."

Mara looked up at the source of the low, masculine rasp. Her dry throat closed. Her first impression was sheer size encased in a sleek navy suit, dwarfing her own five four frame. The second thought was: _I hope he's Jake. _Guilt chased this thought, for Erin had described someone tallish and blond, not this dark giant. Wide-set hazel eyes regarded her, a faint grin curling full lips. His hair hung in soft brown waves to his chin, framing lean, stubble-roughened cheeks.

Mm, she loved a little scruff.

"May I sit?" he asked, gesturing to the chair beside hers.

"Ah, I'm actually waiting for someone. Unless . . ." she might as well take a stab at it. "Are—are you Jake?" His smile was blindingly white, framed by two handsome grooves in his cheeks.

"Guilty as charged. And you must be . . ."

"Mara. Mara Townsley." She stood to shake his hand. Big, warm, engulfing hers in a firm, callused grip. His physical presence fried all her circuits, and she made a mental note to grill Erin for this. She had sworn off tall, tough, men that oozed dark sexuality. Jake had 'Trouble' written all over him.

"Mara. A pleasure," he drawled, her name like a caress on his lips.

_Snap out of it! _She berated herself. She wouldn't go all soft and giggly just because some guy smoldered at her! His arm slid around her, bringing her close to his aura of heat and spicy, masculine scent.

"Shall we?" he gestured toward the restaurant. Jake's List-worthiness jumped up a few notches. A guy who could afford reservations in a place like this had a successful career.

The maitre de smiled as they passed and Jake led her to a quiet table in the corner. He circled the table to help her with her coar and purse. He even pulled out her chair for her. Mara smiled, feeling the heat of a blush burning her cheeks. A gentleman. As Jake took his seat, he flashed her another devastating smile. This time she noticed that his canines seemed slightly elongated. It gave him a . . . predatory likeness that sent a discreet shiver down her back. Was that apprehension or desire? He leaned forward, folding his hands on the table.

"I have a confession to make, Mara." Thick brown eyebrows crouched over his hazel eyes and Mara wondered how old he was. He looked barely older than she, but there was an ancient sadness lurking in his eyes. She grinned, expecting a joke, or maybe a cheesy come-on.

"And what might that be?"

"I . . . I'm not Jake." Mara stiffened, the soft, dreamy fantasy shattering. The _pig_! She moved to stand when his hand closed around her wrist.

"Hey, wait a second!"

"No, you smarmy jerk! You think you can waltz in and claim to be someone else? Flash your playboy smile and women melt, is that it? Is that your angle?" she hissed softly, aware of the other diners and the soft strains of music floating over them. She glared at the offending hand. He hung on, tenacious.

"Angle? I don't have an angle! I just want you to have dinner with me!"

"Real straightforward, pretending to be someone else!" she retorted, ignoring the sweet, wounded expression he wore. It sat ill on those sharp features. He had the gall to snort, a feral gleam lighting his eyes. He rose to his full height, towering over her.

"You're right. I'm sorry. Look, we got off on the wrong foot. But I would be honored with your company, at least for a little while. If you're not having a good time, then you can leave when your date shows up." the naked appeal in his voice touched her. He thrust out his hand.

"Good evening, miss. My name is Xavier Webb. I'm thirty-two; I work as a contractor and love dogs. Is that better?" Mara could not stifle the grin at his easy charm and was secretly flattered that he would go to such lengths to have dinner with her.

"Much," she replied, deigning to shake his hand, "it's very nice to meet you, Xavier. My name is Mara Townsley, twenty-eight years old, and I work for Stern, Kestler, and Cobb, a consultant firm downtown and I like poetry."

"Very nice to meet you," Xavier said warmly, then gestured expansively toward the waiting table.

"Now let's eat!"

**XXX**

The sultry vixen of his fantasy had nothing on the living, breathing Mara. They exchanged pleasantries and her silences were as eloquent as her words. They spoke easily of their work, poetry and movies, but she adroitly sidestepped talk of her family. There was pain hidden there, one Xavier longed to soothe, erase. She was beautiful, so stirringly beautiful in mind and body that more than once Xavier shifted, an erection hidden beneath the drape of the tablecloth. Her dark blue eyes were so direct, so searching. What was she looking for? Did she like what she found?

Xavier was captured by her air of vulnerability, of gentleness, the softness of rose's petals through a web of thorns. He'd never wanted so much to be tender to a woman, not even Rachel. Xavier locked those thoughts into their secret box in his mind, only to be aired in moments of nostalgia or self-pity.

"So do you have any family, Xavier?" she asked, sipping her lemon water, leaving a faint smear of lip gloss on the glass. Xavier was momentarily lost in the lush imprint of her lip and the images—erotic and in explicit detail—that came to mind.

"Family?" he said, shaking himself, "Yes. My parents live in New York. My mom is a professor of language at Berkeley." His mother had mastered over two hundred languages in the tenure of their exile, so it fit easily enough.

"And my father is an architect." One of the co-designers of the Empire State Building in his spare time, if Xavier remembered correctly.

"I also have a younger sister. She's bumming her way through Europe. A college thing, I guess." She had stayed with Raze in the Old World, maybe for helping with the Corvinus heir, and maybe for her own reasons. Xavier suspected some deeper relationship between her and Raze.

"I've always dreamed of going to Europe. Such beauty and history there," Mara's voice was dreamy and wistful. She spoke as if her life had passed her by and she was contemplating old regrets. What tied her to Seattle?

The conversation ebbed and flowed naturally as their food arrived. Xavier surveyed her choice of fish and salad with disdain. It rested on his tongue that he preferred a lady with some curves, but he bit it back. There was no way he was going to screw this up. He tore into his rare filet mignon with relish, the tender meat oozing blood.

He was mesmerized by the subtle signals she offered, the toss of her hair bringing attention to the swan-like expanse of her throat and tantalizing glimpse of snowy cleavage, the way she bit her lip before speaking, the darkening of her eyes. What a farce this whole ritual was, he thought. A glossy veneer over animal instinct, tangled up with bonds of emotion and history. God, how could he phrase his invitation without getting a drink thrown in his face? The moment passed as the waiter offered him another iced tea. Damn, he'd missed his moment!

He didn't find another opening in the flow of conversation and the meal was winding down, melting away like the candles into puddles of wax. Xavier consigned himself to the fact that a woman of Mara's caliber would not cheapen herself by having sex on the first date. The moon's raging hunger would have to wait. Oh well. The anticipation of another date, and another, would whet his anticipation. He brightened at this philosophical turning point. Xavier paid for their meal, biting back words of affront as Mara reached for her purse. A lady paying for her meal on a date! There were conventions of a modern courtship that he refused to follow.

Xavier rose to help her with her coat. He leaned close and breathed in her scent—something dense and sweet, like vanilla and cinnamon. He was close enough to feel the heat radiate off her, feel the delicate caress of her hair. The whole meal was worth it for this single shining moment.

"I am _very_ glad you decided to blow the other guy off," he murmured, only just stopping himself from kissing her neck where a sweet pulse throbbed. Only that downy soft skin separated him from the hot, heady rush of her blood . . . His fangs lengthened and he took a moment to master his control. She threw a coy smile over her shoulder, peering at him through the sooty veil of her lashes.

"My best friend is going to give me holy hell for ruining her matchmaking plans, but I am too."

A warm geyser of happiness erupted in Xavier's chest. A part of him wished for the old days of his youth where tokens and favors were exchanged between lovers. He would have like to have something soaked with that sweet scent, or even a lock of her glorious hair to caress like a talisman.

"I'll walk you to your car," he said, weaving her arm through his. Instead of winning another of her sunny smiles, he saw a flash of sadness enter the turbulent blue sea of her eyes.

"I actually don't have a car at the moment." her tone was off, feigning lightness but not quite succeeding, instead ringing of pained embarrassment. Xavier thought of his truck, parked dozens of blocks away with his old clothes and his gun thrown in the cab.

"A taxi, then," he said simply, trying to save face for both of them.

"Do you not have a coat?" she asked as they approached the door. Xavier shook his head.

"Nah. I have thick skin." He'd spent many a full moon half-naked, even in snow. He was charmed by the furrow in her brow, the cute pout of her lips, as if she was worried he would catch a chill.

"You need a coat," Mara insisted.

They stepped onto the street, frigid air swirling around them, and Xavier made a split second decision. He pulled her into the relative privacy of the narrow alley where he'd first seen her, pressed her against the wall and kissed her. The taste of her lips held the tang of lemons, and the faint sticky sweetness of her lip gloss. He tried to make it polite and gentle, befitting a first kiss, but the enticing warmth of her body undid him. Before he could stop himself, he was headlong into the kiss. His tongue thrusting into her mouth, his fingers tangled in the silky fall of her hair, cupping her skull like the beautiful, precious thing it was. And, miracle of miracles, she didn't push him away. She threw her arms around his neck, dragging him closer. Desire roared through his body. At last, his lungs screamed for air and he broke the surface with a sucking breath.

"See? I'm plenty warm," he murmured, combing a wayward strand of her reddish hair behind her ear. Lips reddened by their kiss, Mara looked up at him with such naked trust that he thought his heart might break.

"Point proven," she breathed.

"Mara . . . I don't want to seem too forward, or rush things, or insult your honor as a woman, but would you . . . would you like to-"

"Yes," she interrupted, blue eyes sparkling with humor, heavy-lidded with desire. He laughed, a clear, delighted sound.

"Just to clarify, I meant to ask if-"

"If you wanted me to go back to your place and I agree. Absolutely. And for the record, the fact that you would worry about insulting my honor as a woman is very . . . very . . . _sweet_." She punctuated the last words with soft, wet kisses along the curve of his jaw, her breath a humid caress. Xavier contained an animal groan.

"I've just moved into my new place. Everything's still in boxes." He pulled her away from the cold wall and enveloped her in his embrace, feeling so glitteringly alive in the night with her in his arms. His beauty, his Mara.

"Your place?" he asked hopefully. She exhaled a heavy sigh.

"My landlady lives right across from me and is a notorious snoop. I shudder to think what would happen if I brought a man home." Xavier decoded the secret message: it had been a long time since she'd been with anyone. He rejoiced.

"Hmm. I guess that leaves a hotel. Does that suit you? Not too . . . ah-"

"Lewd? Clandestine?" she supplied helpfully. Xavier was caught somewhere between annoyance and delight that she was finishing his sentences. He leaned his forehead against hers.

"Yes. Your honor, again." Her long, cool fingers were drawing idle patterns along his chest, dancing around his nipples.

"My honor thanks you," she replied huskily, "A hotel is fine by me."

"Thank God!" Xavier said, making her laugh.

xxxxxx

_A/N: See? I haven't abandoned this story! Consider this my Valentine's gift to you. What do you think? Like it? Hate it? More to come, I promise!_


	13. Divergence: X

X

A sensual ache permeated her body as she floated up to the surface of consciousness. A pleasant throb settled between her thighs and she felt so luxurious wrapped in solid heat. Mara made a soft sound, stirring. Memories of the previous night with Xavier flooded her and she settled back into the security of his embrace, reassured by the soft tickle of his breath in her hair.

She knew this was dangerous and stupid. The huge, warm animal that held her in his possessive embrace was danger incarnate, especially after the white-hot passion of their lovemaking. She loved too easily, cared too quickly. She stifled a rueful grin. She couldn't even blame her present foolishness on alcohol like some of her girlfriends' exploits. Nope, she'd gone willingly into this trap, entrusted Xavier with her body and . . . God help her, the stirrings of something beyond the physical had jarred loose in the titanic upheaval of pleasure and mutual surrender.

Mara pushed aside these thoughts, defiantly clinging to the present pleasure as the sun streamed in through the windows . . .

_Sunlight!_

Mara shot straight up in bed.

"What time is it?"

Xavier blinked awake and gifted her with a singularly sweet smile. Her heart squeezed at the sight. He rolled over and read the alarm clock.

"A bit after nine. Do you have somewhere to be?" A slow, unfurling heat raced along her nerves at the sight of his tousled hair, his sexy grin and the lean, impressive breadth of his chest and stomach above the sheet draped across his waist. He was just so big!

"Um, no. Not until later." In a blur of bedsheets and olive-toned skin, Xavier pulled her on top of him and wound arms and legs around her, snuggling close with a sigh of contentment.

"Good. I want you to stay right here." The man was a cuddler. How sweet.

Mara relaxed, lulled into a contented stupor. He made no demands, but the insistent throb of his erection rose between them. Mara swallowed hard. After the sleepless intensity of the night before, the thought of making love again daunted her. She glanced up at him and he offered a rueful grin, shrugging.

"What's on the agenda today? Not work, I hope," he said, his fingers busily stroking her tangled hair, winding a strand around his finger as if to admire the color and texture.

"No," she replied, "My little brother Mark has his graduation party today. He's valedictorian." She couldn't keep the doting pride from her voice.

"Congratulations," Xavier murmured. A pause.

"D—Do you have any other family?" So he had noticed her sidestepping the question. A familiar tangle of pain and sadness welled in her and she sighed. Mara rested her chin on Xavier's chest. He had such beautiful eyes, a deep green-grey striated with flecks of gold. His sharp features were somber and attentive.

"This story is long and painful, so I'll try and make it quick: my dad's a drunk. He spent the majority of my childhood either passed out on the kitchen floor or out spending our lunch money on booze."

A delicate savagery wormed its way into the brisk tone, Mara noted clinically. She couldn't bear the judgment or sympathy in his eyes and she instead focused on that little hollow at the base of his throat, watching the steady leap of his pulse. It soothed her.

"My mom worked three jobs to keep us afloat. She died of leukemia last year." Her voice warbled dangerously and she mastered the tears, swallowing them. Mom would have been so proud of Mark!

"It's just us now. I try to help as much as I can. There's my sister Maddie, she's going to college upstate and then Mark. We're celebrating his graduation now, since Maddie will have trouble getting away with her internship this summer." She had promised to make it short and now she was rambling about inane details. The farther she got from Mom's death the better.

To his unending credit, Xavier didn't offer trite platitudes about the most devastating facts of her life, but instead simply held her, crooning inarticulate words and combing her hair. He saved her dignity with his silence and she loved him for that. He took in a breath to say something and stopped.

"What?" she asked.

"Nothing. I don't want to embarrass you," he murmured, the caressing fingers moving along the curve of her jaw.

"Spit it out," Mara prompted, softening the sharp tone with a smile.

"I was going to say that your siblings are lucky to have an older sister like you. One who's so strong and brave and kind. They're very lucky." The tears that threatened ran down her cheeks in hot streaks, pattering onto his warm skin.

"Shit, Mara I didn't mean to-" she cut off his apology with a kiss.

How dare he! Where did he get off saying such sweet things to her? She wanted to make him beg and grovel, assassinate him with pleasure. Xavier murmured something against her lips, an initial resistance pulling him back. Xavier gave in at the taunting flick of her tongue along his lower lip, and obligingly slid his tongue into her mouth, gently probing. Mara fisted her hands in his thick, dark hair, dragging him closer, arching urgently against him. The sound that left his throat could only be described as a growl.

It was such a delightful, sexy secret, that beneath the expensive suit and polished charm was an animal's carnality. Mara delighted in the possession of him. She rose over him and began to sink onto his thick manhood when he stopped her.

"Wait," he rasped, reached for a condom. She blessed his foresight. Couldn't forget that vital detail, now could we? She trembled, momentarily frightened by the force of her feelings. Talk about throwing caution to the wind! His hands shook on the package.

"Help me. I can't manage it," he breathed, laughing a little.

Mara grinned, the fear replaced by a delightful melting feeling. She held such power over him. Mara milked his length in a sinuous two-handed caress. Xavier snarled, strong hands fisted in the sheets as she smoothed the rubber over him. Mara rose astride him and sank onto his rigid shaft with a cry. Xavier uttered a savage groan, hands hard on her hips, eyes locked with hers. Every muscle in her embraced the thick, hot length of him and Mara threw her head back as pleasure thundered through her.

They found their rhythm together and soon she was lost in the marvelous rise and fall, hypnotized by his broken litany of her name, desperate for the release that shimmered before her tear-blurred eyes. Climax washed over her in a crashing tidal wave that surged on and on. Xavier arched off the bed, muscles rigid, hips jerking. Together, they flew off into a throbbing inner space.

His lips moved, kissing her damp scalp. She lay sprawled across his chest, listening to the thunder of his heart. Make _him_ beg? God, she was seconds from begging herself. Mara slid off him and disappeared into the bathroom. She needed space, room to breathe before he swallowed her up.

**XXX**

Xavier listened to the hiss of the shower, contemplating what he should do. If he was smart, he would discreetly dress and leave, absolving her of the messy complication of a millennium-long war and such an inconsequential thing as Immortal boyfriend who could change into a vampire-werewolf hybrid at will. But Xavier had never claimed to be smart, not in over six hundred years of existence.

In that tenure of years, he had sampled his share of the world's beauties, had benefited both from innocence and experience, had done every variant of sexual position possible. Why, after all that, was it Mara that he craved with a hunger bordering on desperation? She was so sweet and giving, flinging open herself and accepting him. Those tender, bruised layers, the secret pains of her past only made her sweetness braver, her vulnerability more precious. Mara made him needy and trembling like a callow youth.

Xavier wanted to slip into the shower and make her come with his tongue. All that steam swirling around them, the pounding water, her hair in dark tangles, leaving tense handprints against the glass she braced herself, her taste so hot and sweet on his tongue . . .

Xavier rose to his feet and disposed of the used condom. He shifted uncomfortably, caught between desire and caution. The question was not _whether_ he would hurt Mara, but _when_. If he left now, then she could just dismiss him as another asshole using his charm to get laid. If he waited until later, until it was time for him to break her heart or kill her to keep her . . . If she chose to be with him, then she would lose everything she loved. The brother and sister she protected so fiercely, the job she worked so hard for, everything.

He needed to go. He wanted to stay.

_Fuck it,_ he thought, brazen and selfish. What had his centuries of pious restraint and rigid honor done for him? His honor hadn't done Rachel any good! He'd gone on alone for too long.

Xavier opened the bathroom door.

**XXX**

Salem paced across the worn hotel room carpet, glaring at the inert weight of her cell. Six calls, five text messages, and three irate voicemails and _still_ Xavier hadn't called back! Raze's massive body was sprawled across the room's rumpled bed, his feet dangling several inches off the end and his muscled arms folded behind his head.

"He can handle himself."

His deep bass voice, as always, calmed the whirling maelstrom of her emotions. She stopped and grinned ruefully at Raze—beloved Raze. Her father's lieutenant and closest friend, her childhood guardian, her protector and confidante, and, most recently, her lover. Salem sighed, raking a hand through her tousled blond hair.

"You're right. One of the disadvantages of being the first of a species: you don't know your limitations. Is it even possible to kill a hybrid?" In one fluid move, Raze was on his feet, towering over her, his solid dark form radiating heat. He grasped her shoulders and kissed her. A thrill raced through her at the novel pleasure of his lips against hers.

"It'll stay a mystery," he murmured against her mouth, "I'll kill anyone who wants to experiment." Salem breathed a soft laugh, touched by his protectiveness.

Her phone chirped.

Salem glanced at the number and relief loosened her joints. Salem did a quick mental calculation. It was eight on Sunday morning Seattle time.

"Finally!" Salem flipped the phone open.

"Why the _fuck_ haven't you answered any of my calls, you asshole?" she screeched.

Raze dropped another kiss on the crown of her head, chortling to himself, then mouthed 'Be gentle' before slipping into his long leather coat. Salem grinned at him and mouthed back, 'Be careful.' It was time to watch for the Corvinus heir, Michael. He winked at her, holstered an Uzi and exited the room, leaving Salem to berate her brother.

"Sshh! You'll wake Mara!" Xavier snarled. Salem stiffened.

"_Mara_?" Salem repeated in a markedly softer tone, "who the fuck is Mara?" she paused, a slow smile spreading across her face.

"You bastard! You're getting laid, aren't you?" Salem laughed. It was about time! Her brother's stiff, superior sense of honor prevented him from indulging his baser instincts. It was refreshing to find the stolid paragon of virtue had feet of clay. Static crackled on the line between them and Salem heard the soft exhalation of his breathing.

"I will not dishonor the lady by saying so," he replied coolly. Salem snorted. Typical Xavier.

"Oh 'I will not dishonor the lady' huh? No one talks like that anymore, big brother. You stick out like a sore thumb when you talk like that." A sudden thought occurred to her.

"Please tell me you haven't been spouting poetry like an idiot!" His silence was answer enough. Salem groaned.

"God, Xave! That's so lame!"

His rich laughter sent a warm thrill through her. How long had it been since he'd laughed, or so much as cracked a smile, a real, happy smile? He was worse than Raze. Salem immediately liked this Mara for bringing him such joy. What type of woman was she? Rachel's slender, dark-eyed innocence that hid a tigress's cunning?

_That bitch can spend a merry eternity in Hell for all I care!_ Salem thought viciously.

"Mara seemed to like it fine." was Xavier's dry rejoinder. Salem rolled her eyes, reclining on the bed where she and Raze had spent the night—and the morning—together.

"Must be a mushy romantic like you. So tell me: what's she like?"

"Ah, Salem. She's amazing. I mean, first of all, she's gorgeous. Short and curvy, with such beautiful reddish brown hair . . . mmm, and her-"

"Ok, I don't want to gory details, loverboy. What else?" Xavier was all too eager to oblige.

"She's smart and successful and so heartbreakingly sweet. The way she takes care of her brother and sister—God, she deserves a medal! And she's very well read. I mean, how many people actually read Tennyson and Whitman for fun?"

As Salem listened to Xavier catalogue Mara's charms, her stomach sank. This wasn't a simple fling, a release of decades of bottled sexual tension. No, Xavier was in love with her. Painful sympathy rushed through her. Leave it to Xavier to fall for a human!

After the debacle with Rachel and after seeing Xavier move light-years away from their family as a result, Salem swore she would never love a human. Such fragile creatures. The Immortal world all too often killed them. It was safer to love one who had the Gift already. Salem caught the thought and laughed at it. Well, for most it was. Not so much for her parents.

Xavier's involvement with this human girl would end badly for both of them. The flow of words stopped and Salem mustered her voice, "That's . . . that's great, Xave. Really. I'm happy for you." Xavier heard the lilt in her voice and understood it. Sometimes he understood her better than anyone else, even their parents, even Raze.

"Thanks, Salem. That means a lot."

"No problem. Be sure to drop Mom and Pop a line. They love hearing from you."

"I will. The same goes for you. Give my regards to Raze." His voice was knowing and Salem wondered why she bothered to keep anything from him.

"I will." A long pause stretched between them, eloquent with everything they left unspoken.

"Well, I better let you go," Xavier said.

"Yeah. Hey Xave?"

"Yeah?"

"Mara's a lucky woman to have a guy like you." her voice was husky with emotion.

"Thanks." Xavier was no less affected. As they said their goodbyes, both with half-serious admonishments and teasing, Salem hoped that loving this girl wouldn't destroy her brother.

**XXX**

The thread that bound him and Sonja twanged, and he looked up from the schematic he was drafting to find her sitting unnaturally still at her computer.

"Sonja?" She turned to face him, a brilliant smile stretched across her face. Lucian smiled reflexively. If she was happy, so was he.

"What is it?" he repeated.

"Xavier's in love." Lucian processed this and wandered to her side, peering over her shoulder at Salem's email. A cautious happiness rose in his chest.

"That's wonderful. But . . . dangerous," he said at last. Sonja's hazel eyes met his, all the pain and worry and joy and relief of the centuries swimming there.

"We should go to Seattle. Stop this before it gets any more serious," she said haltingly.

"Nip it in the bud. He can't go through that again," he agreed.

What they didn't say was that when they did, there was a very good possibility that their son would hate them. Like his mother and grandfather before him, Xavier could hold a hell of a grudge.

**XXX**

Xavier rummaged through the scattered articles of clothing strewn across the hardwood floor for his cigarettes and lighter. Squeezing the package, he plucked one out with his pursed lips and strode from the bedroom to the front porch for a smoke. He opened the door and found his father leaned against the worn post with its peeling white paint.

"Father," Xavier said, with admirable decorum as if he wasn't standing in his boxers with Mara's sweet scent wafting from his pores. Dad smiled warmly in greeting.

"Morning, Son." After several breathless seconds of pleased shock, Xavier quickly deduced the reason for the visit and snorted derisively. He lit his cigarette within the shield of his cupped palm and sucked down a fortifying drag. This could get ugly.

"Salem contacted you." It was a statement, not a question.

"She did. I'm happy for you." This was said with such direct sincerity that Xavier swallowed hard. There was never any doubt that Lucian loved his son and wanted his happiness.

"Where is she?" Dad asked. Xavier reached behind him and pulled the door closed. The insinuation was clear. His father and his pompous speeches were not welcome.

"In the shower." Xavier took another drag.

The conversation stalled and a cricket beneath the porch's worn boards began to sing. Dad, for his part, at least had the decency to look apologetic and shifted uncomfortably. So used to him in his leather and black, to see him in the simple jeans and sweatshirt was odd.

"You know why I'm here, don't you?" Resentment tangled with the wild fear of doing as his father wanted, the yawning fear of never seeing Mara again. It terrified him. Xavier extinguished his cigarette on the window sill and folded his arms over his chest.

"You're such a fucking hypocrite, you know that? You come here to tell me to give up my woman while you tore the whole world apart to keep Mom! You started the war! All because you were too fucking selfish to give her up! It's not fair!"

He had enough presence of mind to keep his voice at a fierce whisper even as his fingernails bit deep into his biceps. Of all things, tears stung in his eyes and inwardly he berated himself for acting like a whiny, overdramatic teenager. The cool, cynical oblivion of before Alexander Corvinus' visit looked blissful right about now.

Dad's calm expression didn't change during Xavier's tantrum. When he spoke, his voice was controlled: "No, it's not fair. And you're right; I suppose it is hypocritical to ask this of you. I'm asking you to be stronger than I am. And you _are_ stronger than me, Son. Stronger, braver, truer of heart. There is one glaring difference between my story and yours. Your mother was Immortal already." Xavier flinched away from the memories his words brought to mind.

"Mara isn't like Rachel. She's light-years away from Rachel."

"To earn your love, I'm sure she's extraordinary. But regardless . . ." Dad trailed off with an uncomfortable shrug, the compassion of centuries in his eyes. Xavier couldn't bear his compassion. He bowed his head.

"I love her," he whispered. Dad stepped close and hugged him. Xavier had the distinct impression of being enveloped in his strength and comfort.

"I know you do, Son. But what's going happen five years from now? What's going to happen when she realizes you don't age? Our world is too dangerous for her." Xavier remained stiff and resisting.

"I could change her," he said stubbornly.

"And run the risk of killing her? Most humans die after being bitten by an Immortal, you know that as well as I. And if you do, what then? She has family, friends that depend on her? Would you ask her to abandon her whole world to be with you? That's selfish." Xavier pulled back to glare down at his father, now fiercely triumphant in his grandfather's tall genes. Size was such a good intimidator.

"Back to selfishness, huh? Can't I have this one selfish thing? Like you? Like Mom? I've been fighting for your selfish thing my whole life!" Stars, the past two weeks had been Heaven with Mara. The happiest he'd been in six hundred years. Circumstance had him in a stranglehold. Not enough. It wasn't enough!

"I need more time. Just give me more time," he pleaded.

"Xave, the longer you wait the harder it's going to be. Think of Mara's feelings."

Mara. Oh God, _Mara_! His sweet love, blooming for him day after day, sharing more and more of herself with fierce abandon. She was going to be devastated, no matter when he . . .

Damn, he couldn't even think it!

"I know. Just . . . please. Let me have some time."

"How long?" Dad was merciless. Xavier laughed mirthlessly.

"Put a date on breaking her heart? Hmm, let me see . . ." he snarled, grasping at straws, "Her brother graduates high school in May. Let me wait until after that, at least."

"Xavier . . ." Dad began. His fragile hold on his temper snapped. He shoved his father violently back.

"What are you going to do? _Tell_ on me? She'd think you're crazy!" the only clue to Dad's irritation was the brisk manner in which he straightened his sweatshirt. When he looked up at Xavier, his eyes were the opaque blue rimmed with black of the change, his fangs lengthened.

"No, I'd change in front of her. No disputing that." He blinked, and his eyes were their normal shade. He considered Xavier's proposal for a long minute.

"May it is, then." Relief loosened Xavier's joints.

There, he'd bought them some time. Precious little time. A scanty three months. How could you pack a lifetime into three months?

"Your mother and I would like to-"

"You've said your piece. Now get the fuck off my porch." Dad's eyes flashed in rare temper. He turned and stepped into the early morning sunlight.

"Vicious and rude in a temper. Viktor would be proud." Xavier smarted under that parting barb.

He stepped back inside, closing the door on the world. He needed Mara. He needed her like he needed food, air. She was just stepping out of the bathroom amid a fragrant cloud of steam, swathed in a towel. Mara gifted him with her sunny smile when she saw him.

"Did you go outside? I heard the door open." Xavier brandished his lighter.

"Indulging my nasty habit," he said with as much levity as he could muster.

"Nasty is right!" she shot back, wrinkling her cute nose, "I wish you'd stop that."

"Come here," Xavier said, pulling her into his arms. She made a little purring noise as she rubbed her cheek against his chest. His cock rose stiff and urgent.

"You can't be serious," Mara said, wide blue eyes looking incredulously up at him. True, they'd been pretty active the night before last, and last night, and this morning, but that didn't matter now. What mattered was the ticking clock. Only a scant number of days and hours that he had left.

"Mara, please." He'd spent too much of the morning begging like Oliver Twist. 'Please sir, I want some more.'

_I want more!_

She heard the desperation in his tone and the delicate arches of her eyebrows snapped together. Her long warm fingers stroked his cheek, combing the wild snarls of his hair behind his ear.

"Xavier . . . what's wrong?" God, he couldn't stand her tenderness, not now! He wanted violent, pounding sex to push down the cold fear.

"Nothing," he whispered, bending down to take her mouth in a bruising kiss.

Mara's protest was lost in a soft moan as she melted under the persuasion his skillful lips and tongue. His sweet love. So kind. So giving. Xavier took her in his arms and swore to satisfy her every pleasure. His hands clawed off the towel and he flung her back on the bed and began doing just that.

Afterward, when they lay tangled in boneless satiation, the dew of sweat cooling on their naked bodies, Mara grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked. Xavier yelped and scrambled up from his position draped atop her.

"Ow! What was that for?" he demanded. Mara rose up on her elbows, looking utterly delectable with her pert breasts thrusting before her and her long reddish brown hair in wild, half-dried waves across his pillow. Her blue eyes were stern even as her full mouth betrayed her with a quivering grin.

"That, honey, was for jumping me after I'd already taken my shower. That was for doing what you are so fond of doing: molding and manipulating me into warm putty with your sexual prowess!" Xavier tried his best not to smile during her tirade.

"Aw, c'mon. You loved it," he replied with a cheeky grin. Mara lifted her chin to a haughty angle.

"That's beside the point," she said tartly. The smile finally broke through, displaying her white teeth. His heart did a joyous little flip in his chest at the thought of possessing such a beautiful creature.

He sprawled onto his side, holding his head on a cupped palm. Idly, he stroked the graceful dip of her collarbone, relishing the delicious throb of her pulse. While he loved human food for its variety and convenience, blood would always be more satisfying to him. It added a pleasant spice of excitement to have that hidden temptation always beyond his reach.

"For what it's worth, you make me putty too. It's actually kinda embarrassing, how much I need you. I'm strung out on it." He bent and kissed her shoulder before rolling onto his back, too discomfited to look at her. Damn. Now he'd gone and stomped on the gentle, light-hearted moment; crowded it out with his loud, demanding emotions.

"Hey," she crooned, rolling over and kissing his shoulder, his neck, his cheek. Mara tugged a lock of his hair, gently this time, and turned his face toward her.

"Stop that," she whispered, "don't be embarrassed about how you feel. You're a hard man to read, Xavier Webb. You say and do extravagant things, then clam up completely. I wish you'd tell me what's going on in that thick skull of yours."

'How about 'I love you?'' He wanted to say. But those words would do more harm than good, what with his father's damned deadline. He sat up and sighed heavily.

"It's just that I got an email from my dad today. He said something about my grandfather. It made me angry," he kept the words short and clipped. Mara's blue eyes softened in sympathy.

"What did he say?" she prompted.

She rose and draped herself over his shoulder, her breath tickling his neck. His nerves wakened and quivered with pleasure at the soft caress of her breasts. The musky, female smell of her sex wafted up to him and his belly tightened with a subterranean pulse of desire. Her hands traced soothing patterns over his skin. Or, they were designed to soothe. His sex-starved brain interpreted it as deliciously erotic. Xavier sighed. He grabbed her wandering hand and dropped a kiss on her palm.

"This story is long and depressing, so how about we eat some breakfast beforehand?"

"'Kay," Mara murmured, kissing his cheek.

The next minutes were spent with the quiet, domestic bustle of preparing a meal. Xavier's chest tightened at subtle intimacy of it, especially with Mara's hair twisted up in a messy bun, her fair, fine-grained skin flushed as she attended a hot skillet, flipping pancakes expertly. The impulse to just sink his fangs into the soft curve of her throat, taste her hot blood and make her irrevocably his possessed his thoughts. He loomed behind her, contemplating it, a tight hot ache of yearning in his throat. Mara broke the spell by looking up at him with such complete trust, leaning back against his chest with a soft sigh of contentment. Xavier dropped a kiss on the curve of her shoulder.

His beloved Mara.

A thick knot of emotion choked him. The food, no matter Mara's skillful touch, was tasteless in his mouth. Dad's words scrolled through his head like a stock market's ticker. It was only once the pancakes and bacon were nothing more than smears of syrup and grease that Mara squinted at him through narrowed eyes.

"Don't think I've let you off the hook, Xavier. Out with it. What's the story with your grandfather?"

Xavier groped for her hand and wove their fingers together, needing contact. Perhaps he could tell her the truth. The whole, ugly tale of love and betrayal and war. Then, she would call him crazy and save him the task of breaking her heart. Cold sweat broke on his skin and he chickened out. He wanted to keep her as long as he could. Long practice told him to share as much of the truth as he could, editing names and circumstances.

"Well, my grandfather is very wealthy and ruthless. A self-made man in Europe, a man of grit and power. I'm surprised he took enough time out of his schedule to do something as frivolous as marry. I don't know if he was disappointed when his wife died giving birth to a girl, but he did cherish my mother, above anything. But my mother had the misfortune of falling in love with the son of my grandfather's most hated rival." Xavier tightened his grip on Mara's hand, studying his breakfast table's wood grain.

"My parents married in secret and soon my mother was pregnant with me. When my grandfather found out, he was livid. He said he would pay for my mother to abort me. He said he wanted to kill my father." Mara gasped, her fingers squeezing his, her other hand stroking his shoulder. Xavier's eyes burned with unexpected emotion. Viktor was a cold hearted bastard, but there was a part of Xavier that yearned for reconciliation, just so he could know his mother's father.

"My parents ran to America. Both sets of my grandparents disapproved of the match and cut off their offspring. It was pretty rough when I was a kid." It was, in the fiery aftermath of war after war when his parents' efforts to accrue wealth were put in jeopardy.

"Oh Xavier. I'm so sorry," Mara choked. Xavier dared to glance up and saw tears in her eyes. He stiffened.

"Shit. I'm sorry, Mara. I didn't mean to upset you. It's not that bad, really. I've never met the old bastard. And my parents did pretty well for themselves, considering. My dad's parents reconciled by the time Salem was born." Mara offered a wobbly smile and nipped his shoulder.

"Just shut up and let me cry for you, damn it! I don't care if you've met him or not, he's still your family and did something unspeakably terrible to you. I can be weepy and pissed if I want to," she said primly. Xavier's bit his lip to keep from smiling.

"Yes ma'am." The silence that followed was warm with intimacy and Xavier basked in it.

"So what did the message say? The one you got today?" Xavier blanked for a moment, then pulled a lie out of the air.

"The old bastard must be feeling his mortality. He wants to meet with me. Probably wants to give me control of the family business." Unlikely. If Viktor ever knew of his existence, he would use every one of his considerable resources to kill him and his sister. Blot the hybrids out of existence. With that cheery thought, Xavier scooped Mara from the creaky chair and settled her into his lap, breathing in her sweet scent. She kissed his forehead in a heartbreakingly sweet gesture.

"Don't you . . . don't you want to find out what he has to say?"

"Fuck him. I don't need him and his filthy millions. And after what he did to my mother, and tried to do to my father, and me . . . _fuck_ him." he said savagely, sanding the harsh edges of his words with gentle nuzzling.

God, he loved the feel of her skin, the tickle of her hair! Mara bent and kissed him, a blind instinct to divert the anger boiling up in him. She knew him so well. Xavier groaned against her mouth, raking his fingers through her rich reddish brown hair.

For now, she was his.

xxxxx

_A/N: What do you think? There'll be more L/S goodness in the next chappie, but I felt that I needed to give Xavier and his lady some room to develop. _

_R&R _


	14. Divergence: XI

XI

_I don't own Underworld._

xxxx

"Do you want me to do it?" Sonja purred, brushing her lips against the pulse in his throat. Lucian frowned down at the crown of her head, wakened from his mild doze. He peeled back far enough to look at her, the glaze of moonlight washing her in pearl and milk.

"Do what?" he asked, the words sounding unnaturally loud in the humming silence of their hotel room. Seattle spread before their room like a handful of jewels thrown across black silk.

"Bite you. I would do it, you know. If you asked me to." Lucian's thoughts, which had been circling restlessly around his unpleasant encounter with Xavier, struggled to follow her line of thinking.

"What?"

Sonja sighed in irritation and rose to sit cross-legged on the bed in front of him. Lucian paused to admire the cream silk nightie edged in lace stretched across the ripe bounty of her breasts.

"You heard what Singe said. There is a possibility of immunity since we've produced two living children. And I've drank your blood on several occasions."

Lucian sat up, scrubbing his face with both hands in an effort to rouse himself. He reached out and flicked on the lamp on the bedside table, wincing as the light stabbed his night-adjusted eyes. The clear-cut image of Xavier's pain-ravaged face faded.

"Aye. That's true, Sonja. But you've also never bitten me and the, ah—what did Singe call them?—the immortality enzymes and the vampire strain of the Corvinus Virus are released with the action of the fang puncturing the skin. Singe has done tests on our blood. Even on a genetic level, our different species were destined to be enemies." The plump line of Sonja's mouth firmed into a line, the graceful arches of her eyebrows inching together.

"I'm not sure I understand. I mean we've . . ." she coughed delicately, "we've ah, exchanged other bodily fluids. How is it that we didn't kill each other when we first made love?" Her prim embarrassment drew a smothered snort of laughter from Lucian. He braced his hands on the bed and leaned in for a kiss, exchanging another healthy amount of saliva.

"Indeed we have. It does prove to be a puzzle, love. But let's hold off on the biting until Singe has had a chance to do more research. Maybe it would help if we sent him samples of the children's blood as well. Maybe the key is in their blood," Lucian said.

"Or the Corvinus heir. Perhaps I could wiggle a blood sample from Customs. I have a friend there who owes me a favor." Sonja added.

"Excellent idea."

Sonja sighed, snuggling closer. Lucian tangled his fingers in the soft strands of her rippling black hair, scarcely able to tell the difference in texture between it and the cool silk of her nightie. The easy weight of her body curled against his made him feel supremely content. A tactful silence lapsed between them. At last, Sonja's low, rich voice wafted up to him.

"How was he? How did he look?" the image of his son's face, a composite of both his and Sonja's features, rose from his thoughts, pain burning in his eyes.

"He looked . . . happy. And hasn't wasted a second. I could smell her on him." Sonja gave him a significant look at the faint edge of distaste in Lucian's voice.

"Is that any surprise, my love? He's been alone for so long . . ." the part of himself that yearned for his son's happiness snarled and gnashed its teeth at the words he had choked out, the oath he had extracted so painfully from Xavier.

"He really loves this human girl, Sonja. He will fight for her." Sonja's arms tightened around his chest, no doubt disturbed by the thought of coming to a fight with their son.

"Oh Xavier," she whispered, "oh my sweet boy. Why her? Why a _human_?"

Even a vampire would have been better. Humans were messy and fragile and weak. This girl was an intellectual, not a warrior. It was doubtful she would even survive the change. When he said as much, Sonja sat up to fix him under that brilliant gimlet stare.

"You're actually considering changing this girl? Are you mad?" her voice was hard, ringing like the vampire princess she was.

Lucian prickled under her disapproving glare. He wanted so badly to relent, to help Xavier however he could. He knew all too well how it felt to love a woman he knew he could never have. But he had loved and fought and took, despite the designs of the world and the very nature of his race. A fucking hypocrite, Xavier had said. Well, Lucian felt like one.

"You didn't see him. You didn't hear him ranting about you and I, about the war . . . 'our selfish thing' in his eyes." his voice sounded thin and defensive even to his own ears.

"Lucian!" Sonja spat his name like an epithet. She raked a hand through her hair as she did when exasperated, an angry snort issuing through her nostrils.

"Don't you realize how dangerous that is? Have you forgotten Rachel? That sniveling human that grasped Immortality so eagerly, then nearly got us all killed? I haven't. I remember your lifeblood pouring out on the ground. I remember the long days it took for Salem to recover. Xavier _still_ hasn't recovered! I _remember_. Do you?"

She couldn't bear inactivity a second longer and leapt fluidly, pacing back and forth in restless turns. Lucian flinched away from the painful memory.

"Of course I remember. I have the scar to prove it."

He touched the triangular scar on his chest with a scowl. Sonja stopped her pacing and flew to his side. She dropped a kiss over the scar and knelt at his feet, eyes wide, cool hands braced on his knees. His wife hardly looked like a defenseless supplicant with her eyes that feral blue and her fangs glinting.

"Lucian, my love, I know you want to help our son. I know. I do too. But this girl—_Mara_—she's dangerous. What if Xavier tells her about us? What if she goes to the authorities? Need I remind you that our success depends entirely on the advantage of surprise? Without it, we're _meat_. We'd have to kill her if she threatened our secrecy. What if she dies when we try to change her? It's best if he makes a clean break." Lucian laid his hands on her shoulders and stroked her bare skin with his thumbs.

"I can also remember when it would have been in our best interest to make a clean break. We risked so much. Why can't Xavier have this one selfish thing?"

He felt it the instant she registered his words. Underneath the soft, cool flesh beneath his hands, muscle and resolve tightened into wire. Her eyes were flashing blue jewels, her soft mouth a flat line. Lucian was struck by Sonja's sudden resemblance to Viktor.

"It is for his own good. He cannot keep her. I'll kill her myself if that's what it takes. I won't put my family in jeopardy again." She reflected him also in that stony ruthlessness. Sudden fear gripped him. He felt as if he was losing her, as if his beloved wife was changing into something he didn't recognize. Lucian tightened his grasp on her shoulders, fingernails digging in painfully hard.

"No one blames you for changing Rachel. Xavier was adamant." Moisture gathered in Sonja's unblinking eyes, her bleak facade unmoving.

"I knew what she was. I could see it. But I did it anyway," she whispered, "I created a fucking Immortal! And look how that turned out!" She waved a hand to encompass their present situation.

"Xavier didn't speak to us for years. And if I take this Mara from him, he will hate me. Hell, if I were in his position, I would hate me too."

"He doesn't blame you. He blames himself and is ashamed. He wants so much to make you proud—the both of us," Lucian whispered fiercely, cupping her jaw, forcing her see the truth in his eyes. The other hand knotted in her hair, dragging her up to his mouth. Some hot, jagged emotion was tearing through him. Violent passion or rage, he wasn't sure. He didn't even know what he was angry at.

"Listen to me," Lucian hissed against her lips. He saw doubt, layers of pain hidden away. Lucian was seized by the potent desire to force himself into her heart and mind and destroy the lie she believed. By the moon, how had she hidden this from him? Sonja's hands were talons on his knees. She was gripped by the same fevered emotion as he.

"Stand with me," she breathed with deceptive gentleness. Beneath it was steel and ice, a command. Command? _'Obey me,'_ she said, '_Come to heel, dog.'_ Was it so easy for her to pull rank on him, even after all these years of loving partnership? Was she still more Viktor's daughter than his wife? The thought was a burning thorn in his side.

Lucian uttered a choked sound caught somewhere between a snarl and a groan. His hands clawed at her clothing. The silk gave a faint sibilant protest before falling in limp scraps on the carpet. He would show her who was master! Lucian's hands grasped her naked shoulders and—in the next second, he was flying back, slamming into the bed's backboard. The abused wood buckled, denting the flimsy sheetrock wall and drawing a trickle of dirt from the water-stained ceiling tiles. The bedside table rocked and fell facedown. The lamp toppled, its bulb shattering with a tinkle of glass, casting the room into the faint bluish light of the moon. Breath whooshed from his lungs and he growled at her soft titter of mocking laughter.

"You do not rule me," she whispered, chin tilted at a haughty angle. Had she heard his thoughts, felt his desire through his touch? Lucian rose with majestic slowness, shedding his boxers as he did so, kicking them away. His cock jutted out, hot and turgid. He closed the distance between them in one flying leap, seizing her wrists and slamming her into the far wall hard enough to send framed art flying and carve a depression into the wall.

"Yes I do." Hands pinned, lithe body immobilized by his weight and the solid muscle of his thigh thrust between her legs, Sonja uttered a low sound of frustration. A fine tremor raced through her, the titanic force of her strength surging against his. An unstoppable force meeting an immovable object.

"Damn you!" she shouted.

She grappled with him for several long, tense, sweaty minutes, face set in a mask of pure emotion. Pain? Desire? Centuries later and still the burning drive to possess her body and soul had not abated. Sonja was like smoke in the wind, utterly elusive. Tonight, he would possess her, _dominate_ her. Lucian shoved her higher up the wall and brutally rammed inside her body. He groaned at the tight, trembling embrace of her body. She was wet and ready, despite her harsh words. Sonja screamed, a long thin wail. Lucian nipped the tendon in her neck and the lobe of her ear hard. He withdrew completely and thrust in again . . . and then again. Their sweaty flesh slapped like the thud of a blow. Pleasure lashed him like a whip. Even as she melted and fluttered around him in the throes of her first orgasm, her face was set in defiance.

If he released her hands, would she slap him or drag him close? Her pride and her temper loomed between them. Fractious, wild, passionate Sonja. Lucian loosened his grip on her wrists, vaguely realizing her white skin was black with bruises. One sinuous arm slithered free and clouted him hard across the face, a smug, superior smile on her perfect features. Something snapped inside him. Blood roared in his ears. Lucian withdrew from her body and threw her onto the bed. The legs screeched a few inches, causing the carpet to rip and bunch.

An instant's vulnerability darted across her face, sprawled in halfway sitting position, balanced on her hands. But she did not utter a supplicating word or an apology, no; her fucking pride would not allow it. Somehow they had slipped from a simple divergence of opinion to something darker, a power game with towering stakes. Lucian advanced toward the bed with menacing deliberation, one hand darting out to grasp her ankle. He dragged her to the edge of the bed. He crouched over her, grasping a handful of her hair and yanking her face close to his. Sonja hissed in pain, her eyes that alien, unearthly blue.

"I'm going to fuck you," he rasped.

"You're going to try," she shot back, full of courage and pride even now. Had Viktor won and succeeded in sending them both to their deaths, he imagined she would thumb her nose at him the whole way.

Lucian yanked her hips toward him, sheathing himself in her with one swift, hard lunge. Sonja cried out, arching like a bow beneath him. Lucian took one of her nipples in his mouth, nipping it, then laving it with his tongue to alleviate the sting. He rode her hard and within another half dozen strokes she was flying apart in a wild climax. In the panting aftermath, he hissed: "How's that for trying?"

He hated her blank, assessing look. Lucian closed his eyes and wallowed in pleasure. Sonja was female perfection. Tight, wet . . . while his body rejoiced in her beauty, his heart was in cold, lonely place, isolated by the pulsating red curtains of lust. Lucian rocked back and forth, stirring her pleasure spots. Sonja fought, slapping his face and clawing his chest hard enough to draw blood. Lucian grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head, surging into a wild, pounding rhythm. The bed screeched and groaned in protest. Another climax loomed, he felt the clutch and gather of her body, the breathy hiccups she made. With a titanic force of will, he stopped, fighting off his own climax.

"_Beg_. Beg me for it," he spat through clenched teeth. He was scant seconds from blubbering like a baby, begging for her to give in. Betrayal bled across her strong features even as her walls convulsed around him. Lucian groaned, scalding pleasure seizing him with coaxing hands.

"Why are you doing this?" she demanded.

"Say it! Say that you're mine." Something altered in her gaze, softened. Sweet surrender at last. Lucian's eyes burned and stung.

"I'm yours, Lucian," she whispered, arching up, hungry for more contact. Lucian let out a long, shuddering breath that sounded suspiciously like a sob, and released her hands. Sonja stroked the scratches.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I'm sorry too," he whispered. The pounding storm dissolved into a gentle rain and both of them was carried away into ecstasy, whole and together.

**XXX**

Sonja gently disentangled herself from her husband's sleeping embrace, her body aching and sore. She surveyed the wreckage of the room with a dry chuckle. Her eyes at last came to rest on Lucian, a painful tenderness rising up at how heartbreakingly young and vulnerable he looked when he slept. A restless instinct urged her to leave. She needed room to think. Even asleep, Lucian's potent charisma coaxed and coerced her. Sonja penned a note and left it in Lucian's loosely curled fist. She dragged the blanket over him and breathed a kiss on his forehead.

The hall was dim and quiet in the wee hours of the morning and Sonja strolled down the hall to the elevator and pressed the button. A young man, tall and crudely handsome in a bluff, football player way shuffled next to her, waiting. The empty ice bucket was her answer to what he was doing. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him do a double take and braced herself for his feeble attempts at seduction. Where was the damn elevator?

"Hey, are you in 802?" he asked in the flat, nasal tones of the North. A Michigander, maybe.

"Yes," she answered coolly. The man's thick blond eyebrows waggled, a lewd grin stretching thin lips.

"Man, you were having quite a party. I'm in 806 across the hall and I wasn't sure if I needed to call the cops or what. It sounded like ah . . . like you enjoyed it." Heat rushed through her, embarrassment cramping her belly. Sonja chose to brazen it out. She faced him fully, hip cocked at an angle and gifted him with a slow, satisfied smile, like a cat drowsing in sunlight.

"My husband is a very talented lover," she purred. The elevator dinged and Sonja stepped inside. She lifted a brow, watching her companion drool dumbly.

"Aren't you coming?" she asked. The man shook himself.

"N—nah. I uh, I should get back. I gotta call the wife. 'Night."

Sonja was still chuckling over the encounter as she exited on the ground floor and slipped out the revolving door into the cool mist of the night. She wandered aimlessly, contemplating her interlude with Lucian. It was pure, blind instinct, the pushing, the fighting with words and hands. The strength of her love for him unsettled her. Her upbringing had not been conducive to learning positive coping skills.

So she struggled, fighting the surrender of something precious despite his earnest pleading. She wanted some particle of herself to remain solely hers. But her sensual body had betrayed her, wild with pleasure at its master's touch. It was only when dark pain swirled in his eyes, when his body sought to punish instead of please that Sonja relented. He ruled her. He was her master. But she ruled him too. A precarious balance only newly reached even after six centuries together.

Peace settled over her.

It was only then that she heard the phone ringing. The nearby pay phone rang in its booth. A devilish impulse to toy with whoever was on the other end urged her to pick up the phone.

"Hello, you've reached the psychic hotline, please wait and an operator will be with you shortly," she said in flawless Mandarin.

"Cute. I wouldn't have pinned you as the joking type, _Sonja_." Selene's voice washed over Sonja like a douse of cold water. Damn, damn, damn! She was alone and unarmed. Not that she needed weapons against a youngling like Selene, but still . . .

"Bravo, Selene. You managed to figure it out at long last. I must admit that I had higher hopes for your intelligence." Her tone was off, higher than it should be.

Had Selene followed her? Fear for Lucian gripped her belly. No, he was fine. She would know if he was in danger. A small part of her rejoiced. Selene had already broken one of the Coven's principle laws by even researching about her. What had those edited histories said? That she was a traitor? Certainly not Viktor's daughter or Lucian's mate.

"You are guilty of treason and bestiality. Very heinous crimes, Sonja. Such a naughty girl," Selene's cultured voice tisked and tutted in her ear, "I have you in my sights. Perhaps I'll kill you."

Through the tinny connection, Sonja heard the faint wail of a siren. The ambulance screamed past a few seconds later. Sonja scanned the upper tier of buildings and pinpointed Selene. Even her keen eyes couldn't probe the dark at this distance, but she could see the shape of her, the flutter of her cropped hair and long leather coat.

_She might as well stand up and wave, _Sonja thought.

"Now, Selene, I'm hurt. I thought we were friends. I don't think you'll shoot me. Because I know the truth. About what _really_ happened to your family."

The faint _thwppt_ of a silenced firearm registered through the connection and Sonja ducked. A fraction of a second later, the booth exploded in a shower of shattered glass as a high caliber bullet whizzed through.

"Careful, you Lycan-loving bitch," Selene hissed. Sonja smiled and leaned against the phone with supreme casualness.

"You really need to work on your manners, Selene. No one is going to want to help a whiny, sulky little girl with a foul mouth, are they?"

Seething silence ebbed through the line.

"I didn't think so. Your father was a stonecarver, yes?"

Sonja was riffing, here. She knew only a vague handful of details heard thirdhand from Tannis. Information about Viktor's pet was almost as hard to glean as history about Lucian and herself.

Nothing but the faint rasp of static reached Sonja's ears. The connection was still live . . . she was there, and listening. A thrill rushed through Sonja, a quiet, enduring hope. Maybe, if Selene knew the truth . . .

"Of course he was. A very good one," Sonja softened her tone, dropping the sarcastic banter for one of gentle earnestness, "And also a kind man. I know you remember, Selene. Use that good brain in your skull, not the lies Viktor's fed you."

Through the phone, Sonja heard the cocking mechanism of a high-powered rifle. _Damn_! She'd pushed too far. Viktor was a hot button issue.

"Don't. Move." Selene spat sharply.

Sonja shifted slowly, facing Selene square. Beneath the iron bluster of a hardened mercenary lay the uncertain, quivering layers of an adolescent girl. An absurd mothering instinct prickled at Sonja. She was like Salem.

"If you shoot me, you'll never know the truth. And if that's silver or any human bullet, you'll just piss me off."

"Maybe. But if I blow a hole six inches wide in your head, who's to say you'd get back up?" Sonja smiled, lifting her hands to applaud.

"Excellent. A good threat, my dear. I'm shaking in my boots."

Sonja blurred from the phone booth, and climbed the building where Selene was perched in a handful of seconds. She kicked aside the rifle and as Selene ducked in a smooth roll and drew a pistol, Sonja snatched and twisted, pointing the gun in its former mistress' face. A hard kick across the bridge of the nose sent Selene skittering across the gravel-strewn roof with blood streaming from her face. Sonja sprinted toward her and braced one foot delicately on her chest. A scant few decades separated Sonja from an Elder's age; old potent blood ran through her veins.

"Then again, it's not a good practice to make idle threats. Ruins their potency." In their normal state, Selene's eyes were a very pretty brown, more chocolate than mud.

"Go ahead. Kill me. I'm nearly obsolete anyway. As soon as the last Lycan dies, I will gladly face the true death." Sonja increased the downward pressure of her foot, cocking the weapon.

"How many do I have to say it, you wretched girl? I don't _want_ to kill you." Selene offered the vivid flash of white teeth.

"Wish I could say the same. You just want to turn me. Well tough shit! I'll never do it. _Never_!"

"I do love the vehemence with which the young say 'never.' Things change, Selene."

Sonja spun the gun by its trigger guard, offering the grip to Selene. A gesture of trust. Just in case, Sonja tensed, prepared to dodge or run as the situation demanded. Her first priority was Lucian and the children. Selene accepted the proffered pistol, hesitated, and Sonja could see the conflict warring in her. In the end, she holstered her weapon.

"Is it true? The crimes you're accused of?" her voice was soft and small, carried away by the wind. So heartbreakingly like a child that Sonja stifled the urge to embrace her. Instead, Sonja spread her hands.

"It's all a matter of perspective, I suppose. You call it treason, I call it fighting for my own freedom. You call it fornicating with animals, I call it love." The vulnerability disappeared with a surge of disgust and Viktor's creature sat before Sonja.

"_Love_? You fell in love with a _Lycan_?"

Lucian. His face and voice, his heart and courage. Yes. She loved him.

"Yes. I did."

"And now you kill your own kind. For those murdering _dogs_." The hatred in her voice was like a living thing.

"I have seen murder and betrayal among vampires as well." Sonja pulled a shred of the phone book from the booth out of her coat and jot down the encrypted number to her cell. Virtually untraceable, but Sonja made a mental note to have extra security enacted.

"If you ever want a fresh perspective, contact me. Good evening, Selene."

**XXX**

Mara watched Xavier from over the rim of her glass. The bitter black tea slid down her throat in cool relief. He was devastatingly handsome, as usual. Mara suppressed the desire to tangle her hands in the warm, soft turf of his hair and rub her cheek against the roughness of his beard stubble. Something was up. The past month of her whirlwind romance with this beautiful, fascinating, deliciously strong man had been the best of her life. The List was forgotten. Xavier spoiled it with his complexity and generosity. She was miles in love with him, of course—though she dreaded saying the dreaded L-word aloud to him. The one time she'd said it to a guy he'd gone running in the other direction.

But something was up.

Ever since the email from his father last weekend, the dynamic between them had changed. Xavier wanted to spend every waking second with her, and the seconds that were designated to be spent sleeping, he wanted to warp her mind with incredible sex. While this was flattering and wonderful on some level, Mara also had a whole slew of other responsibilities—responsibilities better attended to when he wasn't looming over her, taking up space. Something deep lurked under his sudden intensity. When they made love, it was passionate, poignant, and almost . . . desperate.

In typical Xavier style, if she ever brought it up, he would clam up, and failing that, seduce her. Xavier's answer to a lot of life's problems was sex. And typical Mara, she gobbled it up while little cartoon cherubs capered around her head and she was doodling 'Mrs. Xavier Webb' in her notebook. Now he sat hunched over his plate, rapidly shoveling food down his throat.

"Xave?" she asked. He grunted in reply, those flashing hazel eyes meeting hers. So hot and direct. He swallowed, washing down the food with a long draw from his beer and said, "What's up?"

"I—Is something wrong?" Mara asked. He offered her favorite grin, the one that flashed his dimples and crinkled the olive skin around his eyes.

"Nothing's wrong. The food's great. I'm too busy stuffing my face to talk much. Is there something you wanted to talk about?" Mara shrugged, idly tracing the bumps of his knuckles.

"Not really. It's just that you've seemed . . . off this past week, since that email from your dad. I just wondered if there was anything you wanted to get off your chest."

He went very still for a long moment. Mara watched as he nodded to himself as if inwardly confirming his decision. A big, warm hand engulfed hers and drew it to his lips, kissing the back of it. Her skin tingled in delight.

"There is something I wanted to tell you." Xavier spaced the words very carefully, his deep voice caressing each syllable. God, he could read the phonebook and she'd be endlessly fascinated by the tones of his voice. She squeezed his hand and smiled encouragingly.

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

Xavier paused, opening and closing his mouth as he groped for the right words. He made a low sound of frustration, raking a hand through his hair.

Fear tightened in her belly. It was too perfect, _he_ was too perfect. Too good to be true. Inwardly she'd been bracing for this moment, the point where he'd confess some terrible secret and shatter her heart into a million glittering fragments. Mara remained grim and still, not wanting to botch the moment with questions.

"I'm uh . . . I'm older than—than you think I am." She expelled a huge breath in relief, ending in a soft laugh. All that buildup for this?

"Is that all?" she said, squeezing his hand. She scrutinized him through narrowed eyes. He couldn't be a day over thirty-four.

"How old are you?" she asked. Xavier was deadly serious, his grip almost painfully tight on her hand. The fear was back, full force.

"I was born on October the fourth in the year of our Lord, 1354. I am Immortal."

xxxxxx

_A/N: Uh oh. Xavier's opened up quite the can of worms. The plot thickens. What did you think? Like it? Hate it? _

_BTW, what did you think of the L/S action? Not too much? _


	15. Divergence: XII

XII

_I don't own Underworld. But the OC's are mine. _

**xxxx**

Mara took in a slow, deep breath. Here it was. The-too-good-to-be-true clause in the Mara-Xavier story. He was crazy. First, she tried to laugh it off as a strange, off-beat joke. He watched her with those pensive hazel eyes, deadly serious. He truly believed it.

_Oh Xavier!_ She thought.

There was no way to tease apart the strands of sympathy and despair that fell over her at that simple, delusional statement. Disease she was familiar with. The alcoholism that ate away the man her mother loved into a sour, moldering ruin of a man was a disease. As was the silent, unseen leukemia that killed Mom. Even growing up Maddie's night terrors and bed-wetting and Mark's fights in school were all symptoms of a disease of the soul. Mara rose, swaying a little on her feet. It was suddenly impertinent that she leave his comfortable house now, before he tore out bloody chunks of her heart.

"I'd better go," she mumbled, edging back. A terrible sadness twisted his beloved features.

"Mara, wait!" he said, standing to his full, imposing height.

"No, Xavier. I—I should go. It got too weird." Mara said, making a quick break for the door. She couldn't face his heartbreaking appeals. She needed to get away. She had just opened the door a crack when his tanned hand slammed it closed, his huge body barring her progress.

"You're not going anywhere." It was his low, threatening tone, it was the fact that he'd crossed the room without her even hearing the sound of his step; it was his warm, strong hands on her shoulders that sent Mara into a claustrophobic panic attack. The walls closed in, her limbs shook.

"L—Let go of m—me!" she quavered, her voice weak and ineffectual. She shook off his grip and backed away from him until the backs of her thighs bumped into the couch. She fell back onto the cushions with a small squeak. Xavier blew out a huge breath, shoving both hands through his hair. He spread his hands and slowly approached her, tiptoeing over and kneeling on the braided rug near her.

"This is a disaster. Mara, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to freak you out. Maybe I should have started differently. Will you give me a do-over?" Mara struggled with the plush cushions to a seated position, hugging her upraised legs.

"A—are you gonna keep me here?" she asked. Raw pain filled his face.

"No," he whispered, "you're not my prisoner, Mara. Just hear me out and then you can tell me to fuck off if you want to." Mara nodded, regretting the rash words. She offered her hand. Xavier took it gratefully, his heartbeat swift and strong against her palm.

"I should have started off by saying what an incredible person you are. I've never met anyone as smart and sweet and kind and giving as you. And being with you this past month has been the happiest I've ever been. I'm . . . I'm in love with you, Mara. Head over heels, frolicking through fields, cartoon hearts . . . the whole nine yards." Tears slipped in salty streaks down her cheeks, truly moved and rejoicing in his simple, quiet words. She reached out and swatted his chest.

"Yeah, you should have led with that, you dummy," she breathed.

His white teeth flashed in a smile. Suddenly, the five minutes between those words and the two of them eating dinner hadn't happened and this was Xavier Webb, the man she loved. Mara moved onto the floor beside him and held his face between her hands.

"I love you too. You make my world stop."

"Oh Mara," he murmured, leaning close. He didn't make the first move, so Mara sealed the beautiful words with a kiss. It spun off in its own delicious magical fusion of lips and tongue. Desire softened the tension of fear and uncertainty, threatening to yank her out into a boundless sea of pleasure and joy. Mara shoved his chest, breaking the sweet contact of their mouths.

"Hold it, big boy. Don't you dare use your mojo on me right now. Start talking." Xavier laughed.

"Damn. I was hoping you'd let me at least put my tongue-"

"Nope. No mercy. Talk."

Xavier shrugged and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. At her sudden tensing, he kissed her neck.

"Hey, easy there. It's just me. I like having you close," he crooned in a soft voice, augmenting its warm magic with gentle kisses. Slick of him, she thought absently, lulling her into a contented stupor. Mara, romantic sop that she was, couldn't find words to protest. She did manage to glare down her nose at him.

"Start talking, Xave. What was that about your birth date? October fourth. A Libra, huh? Well, we're compatible in some respects. I'm a Gemini. But 1354? Are you joking?" Theory Number One was vastly preferable to the crazy option. Xavier held her in place with those compelling eyes of his.

"There's no easy to say this, but it's true. I was born in the Middle Ages. I've walked this earth for over six hundred years. And all the stories about vampires and werewolves—they're all _true_. My mother is a vampire-" Mara struggled against his embrace, away from the lunacy of his words.

"Are you telling me you're a _vampire_?"

"No. My dad is a werewolf—a Lycan. I'm something in between. A hybrid," he said with infuriating logic.

"You're crazy!"

"If you'd just-"

"_Let go_!"

"No! Oh Mara, my love, please _listen_!" he begged.

Mara fought the tender persuasion, his raw anguish and the soft part of her that wanted to believe him. Good, responsible _sane_ adults did not believe in monsters. Xavier held on, implacably gentle, his head buried in the soft curve her shoulder. Over a foot in height and pounds of wiry muscle made her struggles useless. His body exuded such heat; sweat made the hair cling to the back of her neck and was slippery where her skin met his.

"I won't go to the police or anything. I just want to go," she begged. He lifted his eyes to hers and she found them full of tears.

"Ok," he choked. Mara staggered to her feet, unable to bear the sight of him sprawled on the carpet like a child—totally vulnerable. She sank onto the couch and buried her face in her hands. Soft sobs ravaged her. She couldn't go. Like mother, like daughter. Just as her mother had been in bondage to a man whose soul was wasted by booze, so Mara was utterly tied to Xavier, regardless of his madness. Xavier crawled toward her, like a groveling dog.

"Please," she whispered, holding out a hand to ward him off, unsure of what she was begging for. Please love me? Please leave me alone?

"If you won't let me tell you, then let me _show_ you."

With this decidedly ominous statement, Xavier stood and stripped off his tattered Led Zeppelin t-shirt.

"Xavier? What are you-?" Mara stuttered, fear snapping and crackling. Xavier's look of grim determination softened with her favorite dimple-flashing smile.

"Just watch. And try not to scream. I have neighbors." He winked. The words were so incongruous and said with such off-hand rakish charm that Mara laughed despite herself.

Then anything resembling hilarity faded. A shudder ran through his muscular frame, his head bowed almost in contemplation. His head snapped up and his eyes were _black_! No iris or white, just solid black! And . . . and his teeth had sprouted into _fangs_. Mara bit hard into a pillow to stifle screams. Her primitive brain screamed: _run run run!_ But she was frozen in place, joints locked too tight to move. Her eyes were riveted unblinking to the—the _thing_ that had been Xavier as the sickening crack of snapping bone filled the charged air, as his muscles lengthened and thickened, as his skin darkened. Soon, the room was still, and it was just standing there and all she heard was the deep rasp of its breathing in its massive chest.

Her rational brain ran feverishly like a hamster on a wheel trying to come up with an answer to what she was seeing. Drugged hallucination? Maybe, but Mara had been the one to prepare the food. A pathetic delusion borne out of her love for him? Unlikely. Not even her imagination was that active. A trick? Makeup, special effects? Mara stood slowly. It made no move to attack her, just watched her with opaque black eyes. What was even more terrifying was the gelid, ancient _intelligence_ in its eyes. This was no wild beast. It wore Xavier's brown hair and the shapes of his face, if thicker and cruder. Mara shuddered away from the thought. She _couldn't_ think of this thing as Xavier. It was too alien and terrifying. Muscle bulged under dense black skin, snaked with thick, ropy tendons and the squiggles of veins. Its hands were monstrous and tipped with claws, each as long as her pinky finger.

Breath came in high, soft pants that sounded weak and panicked to her ears, her heart pounding. She skittered in a wide circle around it. If she could just get to the door . . . A low snarl rippled from its throat. Every muscle and sinew froze. It held up one taloned finger, as if pleading for a moment of her time. Mara was presented with the sudden vision of this thing seated at a posh coffeehouse, fashionable glasses perched on the bony base of its nose, flagging down a barista for a refill. Mara clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle absurd giggles. The thing shivered again, and it morphed and twisted down into a smaller, human form. Xavier stood panting in the center of his living room, sweat glistening on his magnificent body.

"Do you believe me now?"

**XXX**

The story almost a millennium in the making tumbled out: the birth of the Immortals, Alexander Corvinus, the vampire Covenant and its three Elders, and the tragic love of Lucian and Sonja. They sat crosslegged facing each other on his couch, calmly discussing the Underworld of both vampires and Lycans and Xavier was ecstatic. Mara was taking it better than he'd ever dared imagine and his heart capered for joy when she said she loved him. The world, so dark and desperate after Dad's visit, had suddenly regained its color and flavor. His whole world existed within the mind, body and soul of this fragile human woman. Speaking of fragile, she looked like she was about to pass out. Perhaps her equanimity was based more on dazed shock than surprising maturity.

His poor little lamb, she had just found out that her species was not alone in the dominion of this world, and it was no doubt one hell of a shock. Moved by tenderness, he broke off and drew her into his arms. Mara stiffened and Xavier tried not to be hurt. His hybrid form was as much a part of him as his brown hair. To reject it was to reject him.

_Gently, _he counseled himself, _slowly._ His abrupt revelation was more akin to a steamroller than a gentle unfolding of truth. Mara shoved against his chest and he released her. Dark blue eyes searched his face and Xavier tucked a wayward tendril of her reddish hair behind her ear.

"What am I supposed to do with this, Xavier? How am I supposed to accept that you're . . . that you're . . ."

"Immortal?" he supplied helpfully.

"Yes, you said that," she snapped, "I meant that you're a vampire-werewolf thing."

"Our word for it is Lycan. The 'werewolves' are William's creatures. Unable to ever take human form again. Until Dad was born, of course." Xavier formed air quotes around the word 'werewolves' with his fingers, snickering at his own stupid joke.

"Whatever! What the fuck am I supposed to do?" she demanded, looking almost demented.

Xavier swallowed, startled by Mara's uncharacteristic profanity. His euphoria evaporated as a cold fist tightened around his entrails. Xavier had never considered a scenario where he told her then she left him. His imagination saw her leaving and going to the police. His parents would have to . . . oh God! They would _kill_ her for threatening their secrecy! He was so fucking _stupid_! How could he put her in such danger? Xavier kept a thin leash on his emotions even as despair rose up to mock him and his rigid honor. Where was it now? What sort of selfish bastard would put the woman he loved in danger just so he could keep her, like a fucking _pet_? Would he provoke a war with his parents to save Mara's life? Caught between two loves, Xavier couldn't give a solid answer, even to himself.

"I . . . I don't know, Mara. I thought-" he paused to swallow the knot of emotion in his throat. It stuck there, hard and hot like a throbbing coal.

"I thought you loved me." Mara's face softened and she darted forward to drop a gentle kiss on his cheek.

_The cheek? Is that a bad sign?_ He thought.

"I do," she whispered, like a bride confirming her vows. At least, that's how it seemed to Xavier's lovesick appraisal.

"But?" Xavier prompted gruffly.

"I need time. I need to learn to deal with this." Xavier nodded.

"I get it," he bit out, struggling against his hurt and his stupidity. One rash moment and now her life hung in the balance. She rose to leave and Xavier clutched at her in a blind panic.

"Stay with me," he pleaded, nuzzling her belly. Mara's soft hands petted his hair, then gently nudged him aside, overeager puppy that he was.

"Not tonight. I have to work tomorrow, but I'll call you when I get off."

Xavier knew a brush-off when he heard one. He nodded and reluctantly relinquished his grip on her, imprinting her vanilla and cinnamon scent to memory. He sat staring into nothing as the door clicked shut behind her, and listened for the twenty-two minutes and thirty-eight seconds she stood waiting in the warm twilight for a cab. He pushed his hearing out as far as he could, listening to the cab sputter down the street until its noise was lost amidst the traffic.

xxxxx

She didn't call. The respectable consulting firm of Stern, Kestler and Cobb closed at precisely nine o' clock. Xavier watched in an agony as the relentless clock ticked away the hours. He paced and ranted and wept against the injustices of the world and the fickleness of women.

_Mara, Mara my love, why? _

Was it really surprising? There was a reason vampires and werewolves were passed off as legends, nightmares. Such blatant evidence of a supernatural realm beyond the control and understanding of humans was a frightening one. It was logical, _reasonable_ that Mara would run. That she would shove his love back in his face. Despite Mara's betrayal, he entertained horrific visions of his beautiful, adored mother sighting her through a sniper's scope. Sonja was an excellent shot. Xavier groaned, fingernails digging into the turf of his hair. He sat in a state of such agitated misery that he sought relief in a bottle of bourbon. It didn't help.

When one in the morning rolled around, he had had enough.

_Fuck it,_ he thought.

Xavier yanked up the trapdoor hidden under the rug and descended to his weapons cache. Slightly drunk, his hands refused to obey his commands and fumbled. He shrugged on his shoulder holster and tucked in the twin SIG pistols. A Beretta 9mm was backup, stuck into the back of his pants. It was a hard, uncomfortable lump against his sacrum. He stuffed fresh clips into the pockets of his leather jacket—both the UV rounds and the standard silver. If it came to a fight with either of his parents, guns would be useless, but Xavier was prepared to shoot any other Immortal who came within a hundred yards of Mara.

Xavier jumped in his truck and drove into the city. There were roughly twenty police precincts in Seattle, and three close to Mara's apartment. It would be best to start at her place and search in a spiral pattern along the tops of buildings to eliminate snipers. Traffic, though slight, was supremely irritating to him in his present mood. At last, he parked outside of Mara's apartment and scaled a nearby building even with her window. He peered inside and . . . the grim determination that only thinly covered his despair and was so comfortable to him collapsed in on itself at the sight of Mara's innocently sleeping face.

She hadn't run away.

She hadn't broken faith and forced him and his family to another ugly, desperate impasse. Xavier buried his face in his hands and wept in joy, relief and lingering pain.

Mara was not Rachel.

Rachel had left him and his father to die.

A stealthy movement within Mara's apartment sent Xavier into zinging awareness. Too slow to be an Immortal . . . a male figure was silhouetted by the fridge's light. Xavier's gut tightened. A quick leap found him atop Mara's building and he slid down a drainpipe to Mara's floor. He peeked into the dim room and found a young man seated at Mara's cramped table, crunching on a bowl of cereal, completely oblivious. Ambient light shone on reddish brown hair and reflected off dark eyes. Brother. Mark. He was Mark, Mara's younger brother. Xavier pressed his forehead against the brick, still radiating a faint savor of the sun's heat.

_Oh ye of little faith,_ he thought wryly. What a hypocrite he was. He begged Mara for her love and trust then within hours suspected her of betrayal and unfaithfulness.

Xavier returned to his place atop the building across from Mara's and nestled between two air conditioning units, content to wait and watch in a silent vigil. His eyes felt gritty and tired as the minutes ticked by.

Maybe if he closed his eyes . . .

His cell buzzing angrily in his pocket woke him. Xavier flipped it open.

"Yeah?"

"Xavier?" Mara's voice floated across the air thick and raspy with sleep. He sat up and found her curled on her bed, the rising sunlight catching gold highlights in her hair. His heart broke looking at her, she was so beautiful.

"Yeah?" he said softly.

"I'm sorry I didn't call. My brother Mark normally rooms with one of his friends' families but they went out of town and he needed a place to crash and we didn't get in until late and-"

"It's ok," Xavier interrupted her babbling apology. Silence bled through the line. Xavier exhaled a heavy breath. The 'Fuck Off' wasn't quite forthcoming, but maybe a lady like Mara would want to be more discreet and subtle about it.

"Look, I didn't mean to freak you out. I just got sick of lying to you, telling half the truth. You were just so sweet and generous with me, giving and giving. I love that about you."

_Stick to the script, loverboy. None of that pathetic crap,_ he thought to himself.

"I'll disappear. I'll never bother you again."

"No! Xavier, wait!" she nearly screamed. Xavier watched her sitting rigid on her bed, clutching the phone with both hands. A skinny boy appeared in the window behind her, Xavier could hear the indistinct murmur of his voice. Muffled jostling as she turned and said something to him.

"Hello? Hello? Are you there? _Xavier_?" He could hear the panic in her voice and stifled the ridiculous surge of happiness. She wanted him. That knowledge was like the creeping warmth of the sun behind him.

"I'm here, Mara. I'm here."

"Good."

Silence.

What was this awkwardness between them? Both desperate to cling to the other, but indifferent without the impending threat of leaving?

"What do we do now?" she asked. Xavier rubbed the back of his neck in a vain attempt to loosen the sore muscles there. He made a mental note not to sleep against an air conditioner with his head slumped on his chest again.

"Don't know. How does breakfast sound?"

**XXX**

He seemed so . . . _normal_. That was Mara's first thought on seeing him scarf down waffles across from her in the middle of a bustling diner. Marks of sleeplessness cupped his eyes, he had a spec of parsley wedged between his teeth, there was a loose button on his shirt. Nothing screamed Immortal-being-that-can-change-into-a-vampire-slash-werewolf-thing-at-will. Especially when he sat lovingly bathed in morning light.

Xavier had effortlessly charmed Mark in between plates with avid talk of baseball, a gibberish of RBI's and stolen bases of two engrossed minds. In addition to being valedictorian, Mark was also headed to college on a baseball scholarship; much to the relief of Mara's tapped bank account. Mom's medical bills had led to the repossession of her car and a few precious pieces of her grandmother's jewelry, and then there was Maddie to think about . . .

Mara shook herself free from these worries and watched her most recent one over her cup of coffee, picking at the spinach omelet on her plate. She almost wanted to dismiss what happened the other night as a nightmare. But she couldn't. The image of what Xavier could become was burned permanently on the hard drive of her brain.

". . . Yeah! That sounds great! What do you say, Mare?" Mark's adolescent voice threatened to squeak on the first syllable, which he masterfully controlled with a deft cough. The hopeful fuzz of a beard that darkened Mark's upper lip was frosted with milky coffee, his answer to Xavier's stark black blend. His sable brown eyes turned to her in innocent question.

"Huh?" Mara said. Mark rolled his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Earth to Mara! Haven't you been listening? Xave said he would teach me how to hit his curve ball later today if the weather's nice. _If_ that's ok with you." Mara translated the subtle emphasis as Mark's unending enmity if she said no. Oh, _Xave_ was it? The smug bastard thought he could sweet talk her little brother and then she would . . . she would . . . what did he want her to do, anyway? Mara was floundering on the shifting sand under her feet. Xavier radiated wide-eyed innocence over the wreckage of his waffle.

"Uh, sure. That sounds great," she said.

"Awesome!" Mark said, a face-splitting grin stretching. Mara felt a pang of sympathy for her little brother. Always pining for a father figure, after their dad's utter failure in that department. He had never latched on to any of Mara's boyfriends through the years, but reacted with the macho, protective role. It was a credit to Xavier's charm that he could penetrate Mark's bristly sense of filial pride.

The day passed in a blur of sun-drenched happiness and Mara was moved by the scene of American harmony as the ball arched over dew-drenched grass. Xavier had a steady and patient way about teaching and Mark's eager talent flourished under it. The metallic whistle of the aluminum bat connecting soared across the field. Noon saw the three of them pigged out on greasy tacos and soda before heading back to the park. As twilight fell, Mark's cell phone chimed and he reluctantly bade the two of them goodbye. The Joneses, the family that had unofficially adopted Mark was calling him back for dinner. Mara discreetly tucked a check into Mark's hand, room and board for an otherwise penniless teenager. As Mark boarded the bus, Xavier threw the bat and ball into the bed of his truck.

"That's very sweet, what you did for him today," Mara murmured, tucking a wind-whipped strand of hair that had flown free of her ponytail behind her ear. Xavier kicked the tire of his truck, hands shoved in his pockets.

"It was the least I could do. Mark's a good kid."

"Yeah, he is."

The conversation lagged.

Xavier gestured toward his truck and Mara climbed in. Once immured in the messy cab smelling of old leather and cigarettes, she turned to him.

"We need to talk." They said in unison, then laughed together.

Xavier's big, warm hand hovered over hers, as if to take it. Mara grasped it, wove their fingers together. Her heart melted when he grinned. They made the drive and entered the house in silence. He answered in monosyllables when she offered to make tea. With their steaming mugs between them, Mara gave him her full attention.

"So? What now?" Xavier took a sip of scalding tea and smiled. It wasn't his usual charming, dimple-flashing grin, but a grim, sad thing that seemed as old as stone.

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it? You know about me." he folded his hands earnestly in front of him. Mara nodded uncertainly.

"We have a couple options." She felt a joint-loosening surge of relief that at last someone was taking charge of this situation and the casual use of 'we.' They were partners in this, tied by the same burden.

"Good," she prompted. Xavier swallowed hard.

"One: we forget I told you anything and act like nothing happened. We are blissfully happy." Mara smiled at this, envisioning coming home to have him there, to love the _man_, not the distant Immortal . . .

"For a while," Xavier continued, "Five years go by, ten maybe. You age, I don't. Maybe you start to resent me. People start to ask questions. A long and painful breakup ensues leaving us both miserable and alone." Well, he stomped the light out of that fantasy. Mara swallowed a ginger sip of tea.

A long, crushing pause.

"Or"-Mara wanted to kiss him for that tiny word!-"two: we make a clean break. I leave, and you marry some sweet human guy and have two point five kids and a dog and a fucking picket fence. That was the option my father told me to make a week ago. I just couldn't do it."

Mara saw the misery stark in his face and longed to comfort him. How could she tell him that loving him had ruined her for any other man? She loved him, despite all this craziness.

"Please tell me there is a third option," she said with a warbling laugh. She cut it off before it veered into hysterical territory. Xavier reached across the table and grabbed her hand. This smile didn't reach his eyes, which were warm and soft with compassion.

"There is. But you're not gonna like it." Mara squeezed his hand, a cold, jagged panic rising up.

"Tell me."

"Three: I make you like me." Mara yanked her hand away.

"You're right, I don't like it," she whispered and hurried to the bathroom to puke up her guts.

**XXX**

"Two thousand seven hundred thirty-three dollars and sixty seven cents' worth of property damage to the hotel, not to mention the six hundred I had to pay Corvinus' clean up crew to repair the phone booth Selene blew to hell. All in all, that's one hell of a weekend, Love." Lucian whispered in her ear. Sonja grinned.

"It was worth it," she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder, enduring the jostling of the cab. Seattle's evening traffic scrolled by with the faint _whoosh_ of rain-slicked tires. Lucian laid a tender hand over hers on his knee and wove their fingers together.

"Do you think he will even let me in the door?" she asked softly. Once voiced, the words sounded so anxious and needy that Sonja directed her gaze out the window, barely seeing the rain-streaked glass. Lucian's warm fingers gently turned her chin to face him.

The corners of his beloved blue eyes crinkled and Sonja wondered for the flash of second what it would have been like, had they both been human and never forced to this choice. She imagined grey at his temples and in his beard, those strong hands wrinkled and warped by arthritis. The slow crumble of old age had long terrified and repulsed Sonja, frozen in her beautiful deathlessness, but . . . but there was a certain poignancy to it, and freedom.

"If Xavier kicks anyone out, it will be me, not you. He's as much a gallant knight now as he was in the fourteenth century. He would never imagine to dishonor a lady, especially his own mother." Lucian soothed.

"Besides, he didn't hang up when I called to say we were on the way. That's a good sign."

Sonja put a great deal of effort into the smile, kissing his fingertips in thanks for his reassurance. She could tell her husband wasn't fooled; six hundred years together had mapped every dip and swell of emotion and intimacy. Xavier had also said that he had something to tell them and this made Sonja very nervous. They spoke little as they wove in and out of traffic toward the sleepy suburb where their son lived. As soon as the cab sputtered off, Sonja's hand tightened on Lucian's.

"Mara's here. I can her heart beating." Sonja made a mental calculation. One fifteen. The girl was nervous—borderline panic, she noted clinically.

"This could get ugly," Lucian muttered.

xxxxxx

_A/N: I don't mean to end on cliffies, I swear! (smiles evilly) So what do you think? Xavier is good at getting himself into the stickiest situations, isn't he? Tell me what you think!_


	16. Divergence: XIII

XIII

Xavier's lips moved over hers in tender, loving persistence and Mara savored the sweetness of contact before he pulled away. His strong, devastatingly handsome face was tense and serious as he pulled away. He squeezed her shoulders.

"You don't have to decide anything now. But they have a say in this too: this—whatever you decide—could jeopardize what has taken over half a millennium to build. I fucked things up. Royally. If they're mad, they're mad at me, _not_ you. Got it?" Mara managed a quick nod.

An uneasy three days and three sleepless nights had brought her no closer to any semblance of a decision since Xavier had laid out their choices. Dismal, heartbreaking options, each one of them. Any way she chose, she lost a piece of herself. A stubborn, fierce instinct in her said that she didn't regret a second with Xavier despite it. He made up for a lot. Now she was meeting his parents—the Immortal couple whose love was so great that they defied all to be together.

Romantic and terrifying.

A crisp knock outside. Xavier bounded across the room and opened the door. He murmured something in a language Mara couldn't quite make out. From the lilt and rasp of it, it sounded Slavic. A cool, feminine voice with the faint hint of an accent answered him. Then a richer, masculine rasp, low and calm with the faintest tinge of . . . humor? Xavier's solid, six-foot-four bulk completely blocked her view of their guests and Mara's heart felt like it was going to explode from her chest. God help her.

Xavier ushered the two in and Mara lurched to her feet, painfully aware of her own face, pale under her cosmetics and her pressed suit, crisp and pristine like a mannequin's.

"Mara, I'd like you to meet my parents. My mother, Sonja, and my father, Lucian. Mom, Dad, this is my Mara." She wanted to blush and giggle at the possessive pride in Xavier's voice but she stifled it. Mara offered a clammy hand for a shake.

"A pleasure to meet you," Sonja murmured and Mara dumbly shook her cool, smoothly callused hand.

If she thought Xavier was beautiful, every single one of those genes came from his mother. Sonja was a subtle beauty, pearls and midnight. There was strength in her features, her surety in herself. Mara envied her. And her eyes . . . Xavier had her eyes. Other things too, like the sweep in the cheekbone, the shape of the ear. The same sharp, white teeth, gleaming wetly like a string of pointed pearls as she smiled. Lucian was no less impressive than his wife. Though Xavier was a few inches taller, there was a palpable authority ringing from his posture, clashing with the laid-back friendliness of his smile. Such strong, even features. Gruff masculinity in his beard stubble and work-toughened hands. Something primal pulsed along Mara's skin, the same animal magnetism Xavier had.

"Good evening, Mara. An honor to meet you at last," Lucian's deep, mellow voice said. Mara blushed like an idiot under his steady blue gaze.

"Y—Yes. Likewise," she said stupidly. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Sonja glance sharply at Xavier.

"You told her." her voice rang in the still room, bouncing in accusing echoes off the walls. It sliced through the thin veneer of civility and Mara floundered, dropping Lucian's hand hastily, as if she'd been caught stealing. Xavier opened his arm and Mara slipped the spot at his side, taking solace in his solid comfort.

"Yes. I told her. She had a right to know." Defiance echoed in his voice. Sonja uttered a string of low voiced words in what sounded like Chinese. Mara was quite sure these were curse words.

"How much does she know?" Lucian said coolly. Goosebumps stippled her skin. His quiet displeasure was somehow more terrifying than Sonja's cursing.

"Everything. I've given her a choice." Sonja snorted at Xavier's calm sentence and shrugged off her coat. The designer jeans and patterned blouse looked disgustingly good on her tall, lean frame.

"Come. We have a lot to discuss," Lucian said, gesturing toward the living room.

Soon they were arranged in the living room, Xavier and Mara crammed together in the loveseat, Sonja and Lucian on the couch. The chilly air thawed considerably as Xavier draped his arm over her shoulders. Despite this, Mara felt so small and plain and unimportant. How could she compare to Sonja? Xavier's hand squeezed hers. She smiled weakly at him.

"I hope my son didn't frighten you too badly when he revealed himself, Mara." Sonja's cool voice was tinged with humor. Mara offered a wobbly smile, watching that perfect face for a sign of mockery. Nothing but gorgeous sincerity.

"It . . . it wasn't that bad."

"I give you credit for bravery. Not many humans respond so admirably when encountering one of our kind." Lucian said, lifting one thick brow in an echo of one of Xavier's expressions.

"Thank you," Mara murmured, then dared to add, "He's worth it."

Xavier's hazel eyes swallowed her whole, engulfing her with his love and gratitude. She glanced at his parents—such a ridiculous thought when they looked closer to siblings than parents in age. Secret, significant glances flew between them, a language of thought and feeling Mara had no idea existed. Xavier kissed the back of her hand and cleared his throat.

"Mara hasn't made a decision yet, regarding what she wants. She can have as much time as she needs. We don't have to fear a breech in secrecy from her." Sonja's eyes flashed.

"That's a relief." Sharp sarcasm laced her tone. Mara glanced at Xavier and saw his face harden.

"I wouldn't ever put any of you in harm's way; I hope you know that," she said earnestly, "I'm trustworthy. Your secret is safe with me." Sonja's impossibly beautiful face gentled.

"I have no doubt of that, my dear."

Silence reigned for a small eternity.

"So tell us more about yourself, Mara. From what Xavier's told us, you are a saint among mortals. You care for your younger siblings. That is very courageous of you." Lucian said conversationally, the black polo he wore showing off the same breadth and weight of muscle that Xavier had.

"Dad," Xavier muttered through his teeth. Mara glanced at him and saw that the tips of his ears were red, shoulders hunched in embarrassment. A thrill raced through her, tinged with a faint unease. Xavier talked about her. Xavier catalogued her charms to his family. But what if she couldn't live up to his expectations? She was light-years away from a saint.

"It's certainly not sainthood, Mister . . . ah, Lucian. Maddie and Mark are all I've got, since my mom died and my dad . . . hasn't been around." Sympathy flickered in Sonja's distant hazel eyes. She leaned forward, surprising Mara by placing a strong, cool hand on her arm.

"I'm very sorry. I know what that's like. My mother died giving birth to me and my father . . . well, Xavier's told you some of our story."

"A little," Mara whispered, heat settling in her cheeks.

Even her dad, worthless, deadbeat drunk that he was, didn't hold a candle to the monster of Viktor. Without Lucian's strength and Sonja's bravery, Xavier wouldn't exist. Mara's hand tightened on his, to ensure his reality. Uncomfortable with the serious turn in the conversation, Lucian tried another tack, "Did you grow up here in Seattle?"

"Yeah. It's a great place to grow up."

The conversation floated along generalities and polite chitchat about Mara's upbringing and anecdotes of Lucian and Sonja's travel from New York. Mara rose to pour tea and returned with three sweating glasses. She gave one to Lucian, another to Xavier. Her own sat forlorn on the coaster, the ice cubes clinking musically. Her eyes strayed to Sonja's perfect face and saw that her hands were empty. Mortified heat rushed to her face.

"I—I'm sorry, Sonja. I didn't think a—about-"

"It's fine, Mara, really." Sonja waved off Mara's fumbling apology. Sonja offered another dazzling smile, showing off winking fangs.

"I drank my fill before I came."

Mara had a bad moment when she envisioned those white points smeared red with blood, the prostrate body of her prey tossed aside in the ditch like garbage. She was aware of two sets of cool eyes assessing her, and one not so cool. Xavier radiated heat and concern. Mara gripped his hand with digging fingernails. In her shock, it had never occurred to her just how dangerous they were. All three of them had probably killed more people than the worst serial killer. Mara struggled for her composure. Suddenly, her mouth was as dry as a desert and she hastily gulped tea to summon a hint of saliva. She studied the warped circle of the coaster, the cork striped with successive rings of moisture.

"There was a time when it was a necessity for me to feed on humans." Sonja knew the reason for Mara's discomfort and did not shy away from it. What was that tone? Embarrassment? Regret? As the shock began to ebb, rational thought returned. She braved meeting Sonja's gaze and saw not anger, but a strange brand of sympathy.

"Wait, Xavier told me that if you bite someone, that turns them into one of you." Sonja shrugged.

"Not always. Most just die."

Mara clenched her jaw to keep it from quivering. Xavier's third option now looked much bleaker than before. She glanced at him, wondering why he would leave out such a vital piece of information. He wasn't looking at her but sat rigid, handsome face contorted with anger.

"Mom!" Xavier snarled. He leaned forward and rasped something in that Slavic-sounding language. Sonja replied in kind, but Lucian broke between them with a firm gesture and a stern word.

"I apologize for the harsh delivery," Lucian said, dropping back into English, with a wry glance at his wife, "but that is the truth of the matter, and it is your right to know. You are the vulnerable one here." Mara nodded, swiping sweaty palms on her slacks. It was quite a bit to take in! Mara met Sonja's gaze unflinchingly. She could trust the vampire to tell the whole brutal truth.

"Explain to me how it works." Sonja leaned forward, elbows draped over her knees, the faint musical tingle of her brass bangles clinking.

"The changing?"

"And how you . . . how to . . . feed," Mara stuttered, her cheeks stinging with a rush of blood. Was her roseleaf complexion appetizing to a vampire? Something like a smile curved Sonja's plump lips. Achieved without the sting of fillers or plumpers, it was an affront, really. No one had the right to look like that without even trying.

"I'm sorry, Mara. I didn't mean to alarm you when I said I'd fed. Nowadays, I drink pig's blood that I get from a butcher, or synthetic blood that I buy. Before," a slight wave of the hand encompassed centuries before such amenities, "Much the same. I fed mostly from livestock." The fear, a vague instinctive thing that it was almost apart of her consciousness, gnawed at her. It took two tries to manage a swallow.

"Mostly?" The word squeaked upward on the end.

"Sometimes she fed from me," Lucian offered, taking a long drink from his tea. Mara processed this with a slow nod. She focused on Lucian.

"A—and you? What happens to . . . to people when you . . . change?" she stuttered. The smile that softened his face was breathtaking. God, how could so much concentrated attractiveness exist between two people?

"A scientist colleague synthesized an enzyme to stop the change. Older ones such as myself can control the change at will."

"Oh." Mara whispered, unsure of what else to say.

"And the change?" she prompted Sonja after a moment's silence.

"There really isn't much to it. A vampire or Lycan bites a human and, depending on how strong they are, they either change or die. The viruses we transmit are deadly. In fact, our . . . condition amongst ourselves is a strain of a particular virus, either the Vampire or Werewolf strain. The strength of the virus directly correlates on how strong the sire is."

"You've lost me. What do you mean by strength? And what's a _sire_?"

"A sire is the one who changes the person, Mara," Xavier said. Mara nodded. Lucian leaned forward, engaging his brawny form into the conversation. Mara was again assaulted with the wafting of his man-mojo, just like Xave's.

"Vampire's strength is determined by two things: how old they are, and how old their sire is. The older a vampire is, the stronger they are."

"And not just physical strength," Sonja added, "speed, agility, cognition, everything." Mara nodded, trying hard to follow it all.

"Ok, Mara. Think of it this way," Sonja said, laying a manicured hand on her chest, "for example, I am an old vampire, and the born daughter of an Elder—that's our equivalent to a president, king, leader, what-have-you—and were I to bite you, hypothetically speaking, of course, there is a good chance I would kill you, because I'm centuries stronger than your body can handle." Mara stroked her neck reflexively, forcing out a bright laugh.

"It's a good thing you're not gonna bite me then." Sonja grinned.

"It's a good thing," she agreed, "but you understand the concept?"

"Yes," Mara said, "but why don't you just have a day old vampire do all the changing, then? Isn't that easier than risking killing your prospective . . . soldier or whatever?" Lucian uttered a brief bark of laughter.

"It would be easier," Xave said, beaming at her, "but remember? The changed one's strength is a direct link to how old their sire is. If you want weak soldiers, use fresh meat. If not . . ." he trailed off, shrugging.

"But can't you wait until they're older? What's the hurry?"

"In a war, we don't have the luxury of waiting centuries for them to mature," Lucian's voice was stern. Mara nodded, chastised. It took the edge off the fear and uncertainty, hammering out the details in earnest conversation. She imagined it was freeing for the three of them too. Who could they talk about this with but each other?

"W—What do you think the ratio is, then? On how many people die when you try and change them?" Lucian and Sonja shared a speculative glance.

"We are very careful in who we select for candidacy. Usually soldiers or warriors, occasionally scientists. All of their free will. In the past six hundred years we've only had seven die," Sonja hedged. Another significant look flew over her head toward Xavier, but Mara was too wrapped up in the numbers. Seven. Seven in six hundred years of war wasn't bad. Any gambler would play those odds. But it wasn't money in the balance, or even her livelihood.

It was her life.

"Seven," she repeated. And none like her.

She glanced at Xavier and saw him looking at her, his heart in his eyes. Bless him, he was trying. He was trying not to plead, to make it a simple choice that could be refused. But every time she looked at him, she saw just how badly he wanted her to say yes. Why else would he leave out the vital details of the changing? Mara forgave him the omission. Looking at him sparked another train of thought.

"What about hybrids like Xavier? What do you know about them?" Sonja smiled.

"We know about as much about hybrids as humans do. I admit, I have been very hesitant to test the limits of their powers, to our detriment, perhaps. Maybe there is a better way."

Mara was taken aback by the true sorrow at what she thought was a failing. The hybrids in question are her children! Testing them like rats in a cage would be even worse! Mara said as much and Sonja's hazel eyes engulfed her in gentle warmth. The next instant, Sonja had her in a quick, fervent embrace. She smelled like pine.

"Thank you, Mara. You're good for him," Sonja whispered for Mara's ears alone, the warm wafting of her breath tickling the shell of her ear. A big, stupid smile spread across her face. A stamp of approval from the mother-in-law was nothing to sneeze at!

The conversation ebbed and flowed along a more comfortable stream, as the four of them got acquainted. Mara had always relished a deep conversation on the forces that moved the world, be it politics or religion or poetry and she found Sonja and Lucian both to be erudite, charming, and intelligent. No surprise there, with Xavier's easy charisma. Hours slipped by and Mara wilted. The deep, broad warmth of Lucian's voice washed over her and she leaned comfortably against Xavier's solid strength.

"My love, we should go. We've worn out our welcome," Sonja's voice was like cool silk slithering through her fingers. Mara tried to rouse herself, to protest, but Xavier's arms lifted her and carried her like a child to his bed. She barely felt the brush of his lips on her forehead before sleep took her.

**XXX**

Xavier watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, reassured by the soft, soundless flow. Could he do it? If she refused what he offered, could he watch the years wither her body to a husk, watch her breathing stop?

"No," he whispered. His fists balled. He couldn't contemplate her death. It made him twitchy and desperate and he was having enough trouble with those feelings to begin with. The meeting with his parents had gone surprisingly well. Xavier felt a surge of relief to have only earned a scalping by the bladed edge of his mother's tongue, made even more menacing when spoken in Romanian, the language of his childhood. He always felt like a boy when she scolded him in that tongue.

They liked her, he could tell. And why not? She was brave and sweet and funny and . . . sexy.

While Xavier mentally recounted her charms, Mara tossed restlessly in her sleep. She had risen to disrobe since he'd laid her down. The sheet slipped and her pink nipple peeked from over the hem. Arousal swept through him with the crackle of fire. Eyes fastened on her, Xavier peeled off his shirt, unbuttoned his jeans and shoved both underwear and pants to the ground. His erection jutted out before him and he stroked it idly, considering. Perhaps he could show her one of the pros of the all important Option Three, namely, him as her willing boy toy. Xavier burrowed under the sheet and set to work.

The changes in her body were small, but delicious. A swirling lick made her nipple tighten into a pert little bud. Xavier spent many lazy, pleasurable minutes nuzzling and licking and suckling her breasts. He kept his touch light, the ministrations of a dream lover, gentle, but insistent. Her soft sighs and restless stirrings fed his arousal. Xavier worked a delicate path down her belly, dipping his tongue into her navel. A cool breeze stirred the curtains, blowing his hair in his eyes. Xavier tossed his head and gently parted her thighs.

"Xavier," her sleep heavy words froze him. He glanced up and found her eyes shut, body still relaxed in sleep. His heart burst. She reached for him even in sleep.

The involuted folds of her were sweet and slick. His mouth watered. Desire made his hands tremble and his tongue ravenous, but he mastered the demands of his body, bending will and strength to her pleasure. This was for Mara. All he could give. Forever, if she let him. Her flavor was like nectar on his tongue, and he wallowed in her silken flesh, musky female scent and the building throb of pleasure. Xavier listened to the cues of her body, driving her up and up . . . she woke as climax crashed over her. Xavier met her gaze, mouth still fastened on her mound.

"X—Xavier?" she quavered, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Xavier answered by sucking her clit. Mara's hands clutched his head, short fingernails digging into his scalp like kitten's claws. Pleasure robbed her of speech and she lay limp and gasping in the aftermath of a second climax, a fine dew of sweat glistening in the muted moonlight. He kept at her, stirring her into mindless writhing with his mouth and hands. Her pleasure was so intense, so intoxicating! As she lay panting, she reached for him wordlessly, tugging at handfuls of his hair.

"Please," she moaned.

Xavier wiped his face and crawled up her body, settling his weight against the cradle of her hips. He cradled her head between his hands, fingers wound in the auburn silk of her hair. A broken cry left her lips as he worked himself inside with short, careful thrusts. Scalding pleasure embraced his length, squeezing with little flutters of muscle. Without a condom, it was heaven. Utterly irresponsible, desperate and dangerous, but he couldn't help it.

An animal groan left his lips as he found their pace, slow, heavy, and wrought with significance. He needed to get as close to her as possible. He wanted to climb inside her mind and wander around, he wanted to erase that faint sadness lurking in her eyes, he wanted to be her champion, her protector.

The soft, warm bloom of Mara's panting breaths fluttered across his face, sweat and oil dewed on her skin, smooth legs hooked around his ankles. The heavy, wet sounds of their joining complimented the squeak of the mattress. Their pace quickened, and suddenly Xavier was slamming into her harder than he had ever dared, unable to stop the driving need to mark her with the brand of his flesh.

"Mara. Mara! I love you. Oh God, I love you so much!" he choked out.

Mara came with a wail, body convulsing around him. Xavier thrust home again, again, and again before he gave in, filling her up with his seed. Content to wallow in the warm secrets of her body as long as he could, Xavier turned on his side with their limbs tangled and his cock still deep inside.

"I love you too, Xavier," she whispered against his skin.

The 'but' lingered in the air unspoken. However much she loved him, Mara loved her brother and sister just as much—more. They were her family. He knew better than anybody how it was to put your family before your personal happiness. Xavier tightened his arms around her. He would respect whatever choice she made, damn it. But for now, in the dark, she belonged to him.

xxxxxx

_A/N: Sorry it took so long to update. I have no excuse. __so what do you think? Sonja and Mara in the same room makes for interesting dinner conversation, eh? More up soon!_


	17. Divergence: XIV

XIV

_We need to talk. Alone._

The text message outlined a time and meeting place. Curt and simple, as was the 'S' beneath it. Mara snapped the phone shut and tossed it in the direction of her rumpled pile of clothes. She rubbed her eyes, her entire body aching pleasantly from Xavier's persuasion last night. God help her, every time they made love, it was as if another piece of herself loosened, cracking her defenses. What would she do when the wall came tumbling down? Thankfully, his big, warm, naked presence was deeply asleep, arms and legs tangled with hers in his favorite imitation of a clinging starfish. Some part of her would be annoyed if it wasn't so damn cute.

Sonja wanted to speak to her. Alone. Trepidation and curiosity rose in equal measure. What other secrets were there to tell?

_Probably a herd of unicorns or a submarine to Atlantis,_ Mara thought. With vampires and werewolves wandering around, unicorns seemed tame and entirely possible. Mara contemplated an excuse to tell Xavier. Sonja wouldn't send her a message if she wanted Xavier to accompany her.

The man in question murmured a slurred 'good morning,' dropping nibbling kisses along the curve of her neck. His hips moved, bringing his morning arousal to her attention.

"Don't even think about it, big boy. We overdid it last night. About four times too many." Xavier exhaled a heavy sigh and released her. Mara sat up, finger-combing her tousled hair. Xavier's hazel eyes watched her in catlike slits of smug satisfaction.

"It was five times. And I don't remember you complaining." Mara glared at him, a crooked smile defying her sternness.

"Of course not. You're Xavier the Sex-God. It was amazing. Just dangerous. And stupid." Sure, it was only once without protection, but once was all it took. The smile disappeared. Any trace of mirth fled. He was still and rigid, suddenly deadly serious.

"Is it a . . . delicate time?" Mara counted.

"I don't think so." A cold shudder raced through her. She had always been careful on the rare occasion she took a lover. Only Xavier provoked such recklessness.

"What . . . what would happen if I got pregnant? Can hybrids have children?" a bleak expression settled over Xavier's lean face.

"I don't know. I would think so, since my parents had me and Salem. Mara, I'm so sorry. I lost control last night." Mara bent and kissed him, a lingering intimate thing between lovers.

"It's ok. I did too." Stilted silence rose between them. At last, Mara rose. She had her opening.

"Just in case, I'd better go to the doctor today and get . . . something. Maybe I'll ask for extra strength. Who knows what hybrid swimmers can do?" she joked feebly. Xavier tried to smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

"That's a good idea. I, uh, have to go to work anyway."

The showered separately and dressed in silence. It was more than just her life in the balance now. If she got pregnant . . . Mara shied away from the thought. Whatever Sonja had to say was vastly preferable to that train of thought.

"Hey Mara? Come here a sec, I have something for you." Xavier called.

Twisting her damp hair into a knot and spearing it with a hair stick, she followed Xavier's voice. She found him in the living room, sitting on the couch. Frowning, she sat on the coffee table in front of him.

"What's up?" Xavier took her hand in his, kissing the back. Dread weighed Mara's stomach like lead. Could there possibly be another bomb for him to drop? He folded a piece of paper into her hand.

"There are a lot of downsides to being with me, I know. But there is one thing that isn't." Mara opened her hand and found a check, made out to her, with a large amount of zeros after the five. A gasp left Mara's lips. Xavier went on.

"No matter what you decide, I want you to know that Maddie and Mark will never want for anything. I called Mark's school, everything's paid for. I set aside a little for a master's degree if he ever wants one. Maddie has enough to go to any school in the country. Even abroad, if she wants. Didn't you say she wanted to study in Spain?"

"Yeah. She's dying to study the church art there. Maddie's very artistic." The magnitude of the gift staggered her. Love washed over her for this sweet, thoughtful, wonderful man.

"Xave . . . it's too much! You didn't have to do that." He offered that sexy grin she loved so much.

"I know. I wanted to. It would make it easier, if you say no, knowing that you'll be taken care of." Mara cupped his cheek, feeling the rasp of stubble.

"You're wonderful," she whispered, kissing him. The kiss was soft and gentle, warm with understanding. It was hard to break the moment, but all too soon, Xavier stood and handed her the keys to his truck.

"Take it. I can catch a cab."

This casual consideration at the heels of his incredibly generous gift nearly brought her to tears. How could she leave him? Mara stood on tiptoe and kissed him again. He tasted minty and sweet like toothpaste.

"I love you." His smile was like the sun rising.

"I love you too, Mara."

Mara met Sonja in a secluded corner of a posh restaurant downtown. A properly shaded corner, of course. Mara squinted through the tinted windows at the overcast sky. What sort of shelter did a vampire need during the day? And how did Sonja get here unscathed? She didn't look the least bit singed, in fact, she looked disgustingly good looking. She had dressed down today, but still managed to look like a supermodel in a vintage T-shirt and jeans. Today, Sonja's hair was bound in a loose bun at the nape of her neck. With her hair pulled away from her face, those strong cheekbones and the elegant curve of her jaw were exposed. Her hazel eyes shone with pleasure as Mara sat across from her, looping her baggy purse over the chair's back.

"Mara. I'm glad you made it." A long dish of edamame lay on the table, a few stripped pods heaped on Sonja's plate. Mara frowned at it, puzzled. Sonja leaned close.

"It looks odd, a woman sitting in a restaurant not eating or drinking anything. I hide the beans under my tongue until I can spit them out," she whispered. Mara did not know what to say in response, so she nodded.

The cold truth of the morning built up inside her and suddenly, she was saying, "Xavier and I had sex without protection last night. What will that do to me?" Sonja blinked at her, and moved from her position draped catlike in her chair to grasp both of Mara's frigid hands in hers. God, her eyes were like Xavier's, the same warm green-brown, striated with gold. Now they shone with the same empathy.

"I don't know, Mara. Your circumstances and mine are drastically different. You don't feel ill, do you?" Mara shook her head. Not ill precisely. Just light-headed. Swaying at the edge of precipice, contemplating the jump.

Sonja nudged the plate closer and Mara gratefully pulled a few beans from their pod and chewed. A long pause and Mara mustered her composure. Pregnancy was the least of her worries at the moment. The mystery of Xavier's past yawned between them. Dread made her stomach heavy.

"W—what did you want to talk to me about?" she said as calmly as she could manage. The compassion in Sonja's eyes annoyed her for some reason. Like she was some fragile thing that must be treated with the utmost delicacy. Nevermind the fact that she felt like she was going to faint. One long, white finger traced the rim of her water glass, making a faint whistling sound.

"There are a few things that I'm sure my son has not told you. Things you deserve to know. It will help you understand . . . why we are the way we are, and, hopefully, shed some light on the choice you face." Mara nodded, her mouth dry.

"Xavier was married once before." All the breath was whooshed out of her. On some level, she knew Sonja's words would concern Xavier's past, perhaps his romantic past. And he _had_ been alive for a very long time . . .

But still.

"It was at the end of the war. The Second World War. Xavier was a part of the Allied force liberating Berlin. He found Rachel huddled in the remains of her family's bookstore. Her innocence and beauty captured him instantly. His hero complex. When it was safe, he took her to London and put her up in a nice flat. German though she was, neither her nor her family had shared Hitler's madness. A beautiful girl, blond hair and brown eyes, very tall and slender."

Mara had never been more conscious of her auburn hair, blue eyes, her five foot three height and not so slender figure. Yeah, she could imagine Rachel.

_I bet she was a blond Amazon who could speak seven languages and enjoyed rescuing toddlers from burning buildings,_ she thought, then chided herself for being a jealous biddy.

Something told her that this story was not going to end well. Immortal stories rarely did, Mara had noticed. It was a harsh and gritty underworld Xavier lived in. Sonja must have sensed Mara's disquiet, for she broke the narrative and offered a wry smirk.

"Forgive me. I'll spare you the gory details. Suffice to say, Rachel soon fell in love with Xavier. He can be quite irresistible when he sets his mind to it."

"That's for sure," Mara agreed, peeling a couple more edamame peas from their pods.

"They married in New York when he returned from the war," Sonja went on, "It was only then that Xavier told her what he was."

An implicit compliment lurked in Sonja's words. While he waited until he had Rachel's complete commitment before confessing the truth, he offered the same gift to Mara with no such tie.

"He gave her much the same choice he gave you. Rachel chose Immortality." Three words, phrased so starkly, brought it all crashing down on Mara. _Immortal_. If she chose Xavier, she would live _forever_. It was unnatural. It was obscene. It was incredibly appealing.

"The choice was easier for her, I think. She was alone in the world. The war had taken everything that would have been hers: family, friends, career, homeland. Lucian, Salem, Xavier and I would be her family. Our cause became hers. I had never seen Xavier so happy." A smile warmed her voice, but just as quickly, a cloud darkened her countenance.

"He wanted me to do it. He wanted me to be the one to change her. The life of a vampire appealed to her more than that of a Lycan. But for all their protestations of happiness, I saw . . . I saw something . . . crooked in Rachel. Something broken. I think the thought of power—the same power that had been taken from her, appealed to her more than Xavier. Immortality is a heady elixir to some." Sonja's fists clenched in handfuls of her napkin, knuckles white. Her expression was fierce, with what? Anger? Regret? What had happened?

"Go on," Mara urged, leaning forward in her chair. Sonja blinked, as if remembering Mara was there.

"I did it. Against my better judgment, I did it. I gave her the Gift."

"Weren't you worried that she'd . . . she'd . . . ya know . . . die?" Mara stuttered, remembering vividly their conversation yesterday.

"Yes. But Xavier was willing to take the risk. At Rachel's urging. Not to say that it wasn't hard for him. Lucian had to sit on his chest to keep him from trying to stop me." A faint trickle of amusement filtered through the words. A sudden thought occurred to Mara.

"Is . . . is it painful? The change?" Sonja's brows drew together.

"I don't know. Having never been bitten, I couldn't tell you. But from what Raze says, Lucian's bite hurt like hell, but after that, it wasn't so bad."

"Oh."

Was she really contemplating this? Leaving Maddie and Mark forever?

"Sorry, please continue," Mara said, gulping down lemon water. Sonja combed a wayward tendril of black hair behind her ear. Despite her dread for the story's outcome, Mara was caught up in Sonja's retelling.

"Rachel survived. And for a while, she and Xavier were blissfully happy. Our four was now five. The human world settled into peace and all seemed good. I began to think that maybe my fears were misplaced. Then . . . Prague."

The way she said it spelled disaster, a proclamation of failure and fracture of familial harmony. A shudder ran through her. She had her own Prague, when Mom died in a shabby hospital gown with three scared kids gathered around her.

"Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. You do see keener in retrospect. And, looking back, there were . . . cracks in our bliss. Rachel's insistence that she hunt alone—we had a practice of tracking down game. It mimics chasing humans, and keeps more dangerous instincts in check—Xavier's stubborn blindness, my rationalizations . . . There were hints. But none of us considered the magnitude of what happened in Prague. Unbeknownst to us, Rachel had grown tired of hunting animals. She stalked humans in the night. Children were her favorite. They're sweeter. Like a dessert course."

Horror turned her gut, making her previous thought that much more heinous. Mara must have made a sound, for Sonja's hand darted across the table and squeezed her wrist delicately in warning. 'Sorry,' Mara mouthed. She lacked the breath to speak. When Mara had composed herself, Sonja forged on.

"One night, Salem followed Rachel and saw her lure away a toddler with promises of sweets. She was very charming and persuasive, Rachel. When Salem went to confront her, she was ambushed by Death Dealers that Rachel had fallen in with. They bound her with silver chains and threw her in the river."

The sparse words recounting of the magnitude of Rachel's betrayal and Salem's trials were spoken in a flat, colorless tone. Mara frowned, lifting her gaze from the patterned tablecloth to Sonja's eyes. They blazed with so many shades of emotion that Mara quickly averted her gaze. Such turmoil deserved privacy.

"All of us can sense when the other is in danger. It's strongest between Lucian and I. Lycans . . . bond with their mates, I think. We rushed to her aid and were ambushed. The Death Dealers wanted both of them. Both hybrids. Lucian and I were just traitors, but . . ." molten rage coated her words, "but to them, my children were monsters. Abominations meant to be eradicated." Sonja exhaled a heavy sigh.

"To this day, I don't know what they offered Rachel in return for our lives. The price must have been high to betray us all. To stab Lucian in the heart with a silver knife. To chain me to a wall to wait for sunrise." Her tone dropped to a hushed whisper and through her tears, Mara knew fear. When crossed, Sonja was terrifying.

"Xavier . . . my poor boy, he was the one to kill her. Destroyed as he was by grief, I'm surprised he managed it. But he did. He's brave like that, just like his father. He blamed me. I could see that he did. It was decades before he would even speak to us. Salem went wild after that too. Set adrift for fifty years." Mara dashed her tears from her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry. That must have been . . . hard," Mara said lamely. Sonja nodded.

"It was," she spread her hands in an expressive gesture, "so now you know why secrecy is so important to us. Our lives depend on it. And you also know why we were less than pleased when we heard Xavier had fallen in love with a human."

"I understand," Mara said, then felt compelled to say, "I'm not perfect, by any means, but I don't I could ever . . . what I mean is . . . if I say yes to Xavier, I'll never betray him. Or you. Or Lucian or Salem. Not for anything." Mara could glean neither pleasure nor disapproval from Sonja's marble visage.

"I can see that in you, Mara. As Xavier's told us a thousand times, you are not the least bit like Rachel." The compliment warmed Mara down to her toes. A waiter returned, asking brightly if they needed anything.

"No, thank you," Sonja murmured in her silky voice.

The waiter did a double take, brown eyes wide behind their thick glasses. His gaze flickered over Mara, clearly wondering what a runaway supermodel like Sonja was doing with Mara. The waiter stuttered another pleasantry, then walked off, craning his neck to look every few steps. Mara glanced out the window. Beams of sunlight pierced the clouds at random.

"What're you going to do about . . . ya know," Mara said, nodding outside. Sonja flashed a white smile. Like Xavier her canines were slightly longer than her other teeth.

"Don't worry. Judicious use of umbrellas and tinted windows allow me to move about on all but the sunniest days." Sonja rose and Mara stood with her. Her slender arms opened and Mara fell into them quite naturally, like one of Mom's hugs. Sonja whispered in her ear, "There. I've said my piece. Now you can make your choice knowing all the details. For what it's worth, I would be honored to call my daughter-in-law." Mara stuttered her thanks and left with as much grace as she could.

Sonja's words followed her through her workday and home that night, sputtering down the road in Xavier's massive truck. Tucking that monster in her tiny space was an odyssey in itself. She couldn't go back to his place and face another night of his tender desperation. She needed time to think.

Food held no appeal to her.

Hours whiled away as Mara stared into the darkness with gritty eyes, searching in vain for the answer to the biggest question of her life. The enigma was like a stone on her chest, suffocating her.

She tried to think of it logically. Xavier's gift had resolved one great tie of obligation, Maddie and Mark themselves of another. They were adults now, they didn't need her as much as they did when they were kids. She enjoyed her work, even excelled at it, but it didn't give breath to her soul the way writing did. She glanced up at her bookshelves, groaning with volume after volume of poetry crammed cheek by jowl with notebooks of her own works.

Logic wasn't working. Mara turned toward emotion. She loved Xavier. Loved him in a profound way that went beyond the physical, beyond the surface declarations of love she had thought she felt in the past. She could watch him for hours, study his habits, absorb his thoughts. But Mark and Maddie . . . when Mom was working, Mara was the one who waited at the bus stop for them, the one who sewed their Halloween costumes, kissed their owies. They were her whole world. The thought of never seeing them again cut her to the bone and left her heart's blood to trickle out. A pang struck her at the thought of Erin and all her other friends. If she said yes to Xavier, she would never see any of them again.

Fat, warm tears slid down her cheeks, tickling her neck. Logic and emotion weren't working. What else was there? Through her tears, it took her a few blind sweeps of her hand to find her phone. She stabbed at numbers without any real thought to who she was calling or what she wanted to say. Action, however small, helped. It carried her away from the burnt out husk of her soul.

Mara listened to it ring. Once. Twice. Three times. She sat sniffling, waiting for an answer. Just one ray of light.

"Mara?" Xavier's warm voice lifted the rock from her chest. The enigma was solved.

"I've decided."

**XXX**

The buzz of his cell in his pocket broke the cocoon of concentration Lucian sat suspended in. On his work table sat the rig for a retractable sword to be tucked under the sleeve of his coat. The mechanism was sticking every so often. Not very useful as a weapon if the damn thing didn't work!

He muttered a curse and set down his screwdriver. It rolled to the edge of his table and hovered for one breathless second before falling to the floor. Lucian swiped grease from his hands on his tattered work jeans and groped for his phone. It was Salem's number. A jolt of excitement and fear hit him. She and Raze were watching the Corvinus heir, tailing him as he moved through the city. Lucian flicked open the phone and punched talk.

"What is it?"

"We lost him," Salem's voice sound slightly breathless, and Lucian knew instinctively that she had been changing recently. His fingers curled around the lip of his table, the inward curl of his fingers making the wood squeal in protest.

"You _lost_ him? Where? How?"

"Death Dealers. Seven of them. Trix is dead." Lucian digested this quickly, feeling a deep pang of loss. Another of his trusted lieutenants dead.

"And Raze?"

"He's fine. Took three of her discs in his chest and a fuck-ton of bullets, but got away clean." The possessive pride in her voice gave him pause. He made a mental note to have a long talk with Raze when he returned.

"Her?" Lucian repeated.

"_Her_," Salem said, "Selene." Lucian cursed viciously. Viktor's pet Death Dealer was a thorn in their sides. A part of him wanted badly to kill her, regardless of Sonja's misplaced sympathy. His wife saw something of herself in Viktor's pet. Lucian saw a brittle, vicious mercenary with no soul left in her.

"Did you engage them?" the line crackled as Salem hesitated. Howling frustration with his lastborn rushed through him.

"Damn it, Salem! How many times have I told you not to attack Death Dealers? Even the stupidest among them could tell you are not a full-blood Lycan! Hell, even in your human form, you're a time bomb! The spitting image of Viktor himself, as I'm sure Selene will notice eventually!"

"I couldn't just stand by as my men did all the fighting for me! Not to mention that bitch pumping Raze full of silver! What was I supposed to do?" Lucian secretly conceded the point. In the same situation, he would have done the same.

"Tell me she didn't see you."

"Please, Papa. I'm not an idiot. The only Death Dealers that saw me are in bloody pieces. Selene got away, though."

"That's my girl," Lucian said warmly. A pause.

"And Michael?"

"We lost him somewhere in the city. He was unhurt, from what I saw."

"Good." A thought occurred to Lucian.

"The Death Dealers didn't realize you were following a human, did they?" this silence was frigid as the thought dawned on Salem.

"I don't think so." She suddenly sounded young and uncertain, like a child. A tight, empty feeling stretched his gut like the skin of a drum.

"Just find him, Salem, before Selene does. Find him and have Raze bite him. We'll see what Singe can do for him once he's one of us."

"I will, Papa." Another pause.

"So what's the deal with Xave and his human chick?" the curious conversational tone made Lucian smile. He leaned against the wall, content to chat.

"Well, your brother told her everything." Salem hissed in a shocked breath, muttering a curse in bastard French.

"_Everything_?"

"I'm sure he omitted a few details, but the girl was scared stiff meeting the two of us. More thrown-in-a-lion's-den scared as opposed to meeting-the-in-laws scared," Lucian said, chuckling. Salem's laughter sang over the line.

"I bet. What did Mom do?"

"She was her usual charming self," Lucian said, a wry edge to his words.

On several occasions, he recalled Sonja's brutal honesty and brazen pride in what she was. A deliberate test of Mara's mettle, which she had passed with flying colors.

"What do you think of her? Is she as wonderful as Xave says?" Lucian paused, thinking of Mara's fair beauty, the love shining in her eyes, her brave, pure spirit.

"I'd change her in a heartbeat."

xxxx

_A/N: Thank you to everyone who faithfully pen reviews. It's what keeps me going. Tell me what you think!_


	18. Divergence: XV

XV

* * *

Mara focused on every sensation surrounding her, cherishing every sensation. The last of her human life. Mark's valedictorian speech was thoughtful, funny and quick. In a school with seven hundred people in the graduating class, the incidentals of speeches and songs were mercifully short. Mara plucked Xavier's hand from its place on her knee to lace their fingers together. His smile was like a sunrise. Since she made her decision, a cautious joy lit his features, quivered in his touch. But, sweetheart that he was, he was trying to ease the transition however he could.

Mara's eyes sought her brother. He looked so grown up in his black cap and gown, darkly handsome with a neatly groomed chin beard. His eyes sought the crowd and found Mara's. He beamed, throwing in an enthusiastic wave for Maddie and Xavier. Mara had been practical enough to wear waterproof mascara, but Maddie had not. Inky tears slipped down her cheeks as she watched their little brother find his seat.

"Oh sweetpea," Mara murmured, digging in her purse for her tissues. Maddie interrupted her with a quick, fierce hug.

"I wish Mom was here to see him, Mare!" she whispered. Mara, who had been holding it together nicely up until this point, fell to pieces at this.

"I know, sweetie. I miss her too. I miss her so much."

They clung together in a sobbing knot as the list of names droned on. When at last they pulled themselves into a semblance of order, Mara saw a flicker of movement behind them on the school's football field. She saw a hunched figure, the suit he wore too small to conceal the sizeable paunch hanging over his belt. It was only when he took a draw from a drink wrapped in grubby brown paper that Mara recognized him.

_Dad_.

"What is he doing here?" Mara said, unable to identify her tone. Maddie followed the line of her gaze and snorted in disgust.

"Who knows? He probably needs money to buy a fifth."

"I invited him," Xavier said quietly.

Both Mara and Maddie swiveled toward him, their festive earrings jangling. Cold betrayal gripped Mara's stomach. After all she had shared, how dare he?

"What?" she whispered. Xavier's hazel eyes were gentle.

"I know all about deadbeat fathers and grandfathers. But he deserves to see Mark and Maddie. And you."

A question lingered at the edge of the last words, and Mara suddenly understood. This would be the last time she would ever see her father, and Xavier was giving her a chance to reconcile before all bets were off. His eyes also said, 'are you sure?' He'd said it at intervals during their conversation the night before. God, she loved him so much! Mara leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek.

"I'm sure," she breathed in his ear. His face lit up. She tuned in. The names were only at 'H.' She had time.

"I'll go talk to him," Mara said, rising.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Xavier and Maddie offered in unison. The three of them shared a quiet laugh.

"No. It'd be better if I went alone."

As Mara marched across the sweet-smelling turf, her heels sinking into the dirt, her mind was blank of anything to say. She hadn't seen her father since they'd buried Mom. He'd sobbed like a baby while Mara stood dry-eyed and numb, watching the crank turn, pushing the one she loved most into the ground. Her father had been wearing the same suit. Hadn't washed it since, judging by the faint yellowish stains on the underarms and the missing button revealing a patch of hairy white skin a few inches above his bellybutton. Mara, who had seen her father in every state of intoxication and hangover, knew he had just finished making a night of it. Alcohol reeked from his pores, his eyes were bloodshot and empty.

Mark and Maddie took after him, Mara thought. Beneath the sallow, bloated skin she saw the bold evidence of solid bone structure. They both had his brown eyes. All three of them had his reddish brown hair. Mara fought down a rush of anger thinking the only thing she ever got from her father was his DNA. The anger rushed through her and she yearned to dash the bottle from his hand and claw his face.

"Hey there, pretty girl," he said, attempting a smile. Mara managed a wan one of her own. Harkening to happier times? That was the name he used when she was just a little kid.

Back when she still worshipped him.

"Hey, Ray. Good of you to show up," she said frostily. Implied were all the things he _had_ missed, birthday parties, dance recitals, baseball games for all three of his children. Squinting brown eyes looked past her toward the stage.

"Yeah. This guy called me. Xavier Webb. Who's that?"

"My boyfriend."

"Oh. That him, sitting wi' Maddie?"

"Yes." Ray squinted.

"He's a big fella."

"Yes."

The conversation stalled and Mara reached for her anger and found a lifetime's worth of resentment and anger. Now was the time to say her piece. This was her last chance. Here it was, pointblank, both barrels. She took a deep breath.

"You look beautiful, Mara," Ray said softly.

Mara stopped and took the time to look at him. Slovenly, unkempt wretch that he was, he was here. In his eyes, Mara saw the pain that drove him to alcohol, saw the self-loathing and disgust, and the terrible knowledge that his only family in the world hated him.

It wasn't forgiveness, what she felt, it was far too early for that. But maybe . . . a perverse sense of empathy.

"Thanks, Ray. Come on," she reached for his grubby, callused hand.

"Come and sit with us."

When Mark Townsley's name was called, his father stood up and howled and cheered and punched the sky, the brown paper sack forgotten on the grass.

**XXX**

In over six hundred years of living, Xavier had never been so happy.

_Mara said yes._

The ticking clock was gone, the restrained misery of his unending life without her erased. He was alive with it, tethered to earth only by her hand folded in his. Mark's graduation was a rousing success with gifts and food and cake from friends.

Xavier tried, really tried, to mute his joy for Mara's sake. The choice was hers to make and a bloody hard one at that. What kind of man would he be if he just gloated that he won? They were on their way back to his place, Mara swathed in his leather jacket and leaning comfortably against his side, when she broke the comfortable silence.

"What do I say to them? Do I lie? Or is it just easier to drop off the face of the earth, and have them think I was killed?"

Xavier considered very carefully before answering.

"It will be hard no matter what you do, Mara. But personally? I'd just make a clean break. Car accidents are easy enough to fake. To have them in the limbo of searching for you, or to have you simply not want to talk to them again . . ." It was quiet for so long, Xavier thought that maybe he had offended her.

"C—could you change me, then could we stay here, at least for a while?"

"We could," Xavier said cautiously. It was a fucking minefield talking to Mara!

"But then we would run into the same problem as Option One. We won't age. They will. Maybe we could shake five or ten years." The bloom of Mara's warm breath tickled his skin through his shirt.

"Five years. Mark would be twenty-three and Maddie would be as old as I am now."

"But you would look the same age," Xavier pointed out. Another long pause. Every muscle and tendon in his body tensed. Had she changed her mind?

"I'd like to stay. For as long as we can. Then we can disappear." Relief so acute that it was almost pain filled Xavier.

"Sure thing. Whatever you want, babe. When do you want to do the deed?" Mara straightened up and did something sinful to his ear with her tongue.

"When's the first flight to New York?"

Yeah, she'd said yes. She had consented, fully aware of the risks and benefits. But still, Xavier felt like he'd breakfasted on broken glass when they arrived at his parent's New York skyrise. All four of them had spent days talking over the possibilities and drawbacks, the powers and weaknesses of each race.

Xavier adamantly refused to attempt changing her. Hybrid blood, however versatile, was ultimately unstable. The one time he and Salem tried to change a fellow soldier at his request, it had ended very badly. Xavier could still remember the bugged out eyes stained red, the choking sounds as bones snapped and organs liquefied. He shuddered. In the end, Mara had chosen Lycan.

Today was the day. Despite however powerful his parents may be, however strong he was himself, there was still a very good chance that Mara would die. His grip on her hand must have been too tight, for she wiggled her fingers a little in a mute plea to ease up. Xavier flashed her a grin and kissed her thumb.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Both his parents were lounging entangled on the sofa, reading, or pretending to. The glitter of the city in the sunlight spread out below was oddly mesmerizing in the humming quiet of the austere room. At Mara's puzzled look, Xavier explained, "Singe worked out a UV blocking film over the windows so Mom could move around during the day."

Both Sonja and Lucian turned at the sound and in the next instant; his mother was before them, his father following a bit slower.

"Mara! It so good to see you!" Sonja said, drawing Mara into a quick embrace.

"Yeah, nothing like the smell of fresh blood in the morning, huh?" Mara quipped, grinning. Sonja exposed her fangs in a toothy grin.

"Absolutely." Dimly, he realized how similar Mara was to his mother. Softening anything to painful to talk about with humor. A warm smile and an understanding ear.

Too agitated to be amused by this byplay, Xavier's eyes were riveted on Lucian. His father would tell him if it too dangerous, if he was worried. The eldest Lycan's blue eyes were unperturbed, his manner calm and easy. If he was nervous, he gave no sign. Xavier took comfort in it. Mara clapped her hands together, looking from face to face.

"Well, if we put this off any longer, I'll lose my nerve. Lucian?"

Lucian nodded, gesturing toward the couch.

"Have a seat."

Mara took one step toward the leather couch and Xavier lost it. He yanked Mara into his arms and captured her mouth in a desperate kiss. He tasted salt. Sweat? Tears? God, he had never been so afraid! He tried to memorize the taste of her, her soft warmth. No! He couldn't think like that! He wasn't going to loose her! He couldn't survive it! Her arms wound around him, murmuring soothing words into his hair as he sobbed.

So much for being strong for her.

**XXX**

Perversely, comforting Xavier made it easier to bear. Fear filled her mind, rooting out every corner and space. Xavier's lips moving over hers, the shuddering of his wide shoulders as he wept against her neck anchored her to reality. Deep compassion welled up. He loved her so much. Was terrified of losing her. Just as she was terrified of dying.

Mara glanced to the right and found Sonja's beautiful face carefully blank. She remembered what Xavier had said about her incredible bravery. Sonja could have hidden a mortal wound and not even Lucian would have known the difference. She wouldn't break down now. Not when Xavier needed her to be strong. Understanding flashed between them and Mara nodded once. In a blur, Xavier was pinned beneath his mother on the floor, her seated on his chest. Xavier howled and shouted curses in every language he knew, struggling against his mother's implacable strength. Lucian's warm hand touched her arm.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently. Mara stared dazed at Xavier, thrashing on the floor, to Lucian's calm mien.

_At least one of us is,_ Mara thought. Mara had to swallow a couple times to summon enough spit to speak.

"As I'll ever be," she whispered, sinking into the plush cushions of the couch.

The beauty of New York below the cloudless blue sky was a nice touch. A consideration for her: Sonja's no doubt. At least one of the last things she would see would be sunshine. They all tried so hard to make the transition as easy as possible. Xavier was adamant on some sort of painkiller to ease the pain of the bite, but Lucian reasoned that the viruses in their bite would burn it all off anyway.

"It'll be quick," Lucian's warm voice assured her.

Something about him made her trust him. If Lucian said so, then it must be true. Mara's fingernails dug red crescents into her knees. Xavier's shouted threats had given way to keening sobs. The muted sounds of struggle said he was still fighting. Sonja's voice murmured in a language Mara now recognized as Romanian, soft, broken words like the ones you'd use with a baby. Mara didn't look. She didn't want to see him in pain.

Mara had pulled her hair into a ponytail so Lucian could have easy access. All of them wanted this to go smoothly. His warm, callused hands gripped her shoulders. Mara stared out into the boundless blue sky, drinking in its peace.

"I'll do it on the count of three."

Three seconds.

Her life ticking away.

God, could she do this?

"_No! __**No!**__ Stop it!" _

Xavier's voice shred her nerves.

"One."

"Please! Dad, please!" Xavier begged.

Mara took in a deep breath, steeling herself not to scream.

"Two."

Lucian's fangs sank deep and Mara couldn't contain the scream.

It will be quick, he promised.

He never said it wouldn't hurt.

**XXX**

Salem squinted at the tracker they'd planted on the Corvinus heir—Michael. A known vampire safe house. Selene must have taken him there.

_Bitch, _Salem thought viciously. She still hadn't forgiven Selene for pumping silver into Raze. Unlike Lucian, none of the other Lycans could push the silver from their bodies.

Selene had been there, with Michael in his squalid apartment. The ensuing firefight made it very difficult to fetch Michael close enough to deliver the crucial bite. But Raze's Lycan virus now ran through that pure Corvinus blood, changing, but not destroying. In that pure vehicle, the different strains of the Corvinus virus could coexist—even thrive.

Michael was the future.

Salem allowed a private moment of contemplation as she stamped clips into her pistols and tucked one of Papa's scimitars across her back for good measure. Although she was the born daughter of the first Lycan and a born vampire as old as the Elders, Michael's Corvinus blood made him more powerful. Give him a century or two, he might be a real threat.

More than that, the end of the war was looming, with Kraven's coup and Markus' awakening at hand. They would strike when Amelia arrived in the New World. Salem smiled privately to herself. The conflict that had defined her existence, that had given her a name and identity, was almost over. What existed beyond it? What did warriors do in peacetime? How much more did it define her parents, who had been warriors since their youth, who had so much invested in its outcome? Eternity without purpose would be a hell.

"Salem?" Raze's gravelly voice reached her and she gave a crisp nod. Save the existential crisis for later.

"Pierce, Taylor, go." Salem ordered.

The two Lycan lieutenants added the finishing touches on their police disguises. Salem handed them the serum to halt the change in case Michael didn't quite make it. The full moon sank its bewitching fingers into Salem and she longed to change and run to find the cold thing that had harmed her love. She stifled it, sullenly remembering the need to stay hidden.

"Rendezvous back at Singe's lab once you've got him."

**XXX**

Xavier pressed a wad of gauze to the side of Mara's neck, stemming the flow of blood. Mara watched this from far away. The bite didn't hurt at all. No, she actually felt _good_. Vital somehow. Was that a good sign?

"Damn it, Dad. Why'd you have to bite her so hard?" he snapped, furiously concentrated on the matching rings of toothmarks adorning her neck. _Gross. _

"Babe, I feel fine," Mara said, even though the act of speaking made the blood flow faster. His hazel eyes softened, and he kissed her cheek.

"Really?" he asked anxiously, "You're all right?"

"Excellent."

The worst part were the dreams, visions, whatever they were. Lucian had warned her that blood-visions passed from sire to offspring and were strongest just after the bite. The stories she'd heard failed to encompass the degradation and squalor of unending slavery, the visceral betrayal written on Sonja's strong features as her father disowned her and the jagged fear of loss of all the harrowing adventures they'd shared since.

Now, Mara thought, she knew Lucian and Sonja better than Xavier did. She had been there—seeing what he saw, feeling what he felt.

It helped, being prepped, she thought. How would it be for a regular human bitten and left to die or live at their sire's whim, racked with strange sensations and swamped with images from a life not their own?

"Is that good?" Mara asked, looking around the ring of faces. Smiles broke out among them. Big, toothy, perfect ones.

"Most die within an hour of being bitten by an Immortal. You passed that about three hours ago. You're not out of the woods yet, but it's a very good sign," Lucian said, offering a bowl of soup. Mara accepted, sipping the hot broth gratefully as Xavier fussily tended to the bite. The flavors and spices exploded on her tongue, vibrant and real.

"This is delicious!" she gulped happily.

"I'm glad you like it," Lucian said, draping a casual arm around Sonja's waist. She leaned her head against his shoulder. Mara grinned at Xavier, then realized this was the first subtle beginning of the change. Heightened senses. Joy rushed through her. Her first taste of Immortality. It was really happening!

"I'm changing, Xave. You don't have to worry. I'll be ok," she whispered.

"There's about a week until the first full moon," Sonja said. Mara frowned. The enzyme to stop the change sounded pretty good. The idea of changing into a wolf sounded painful and grotesque.

"You'll want to change at least one, Mara. It's not so bad. Young as you are, it will feel good. I promise," Xavier said. The same tentative, hopeful excitement burned in his eyes as in her heart. A future together. How long had they dreamed of that? A cell phone chirped on the coffee table beside Xavier's knee. He picked it up, glanced at the number, and handed it to Lucian.

"It's Salem."

An expression of calm authority settled over Lucian's features. He flicked open the phone and activated speaker phone.

"We all need to hear this."

Mara's hand found Xavier's and laced their fingers together. With a surge of happiness, she saw that Lucian and Sonja did the same. It oddly gratified her that after all the pain and blood and struggle, they were together and happy for all these centuries. It edged Mara's struggles with a glistening silver lining.

"We're fucked! We are totally fucked!"

The first words she heard from her soon-t0-be-sister-in-law were curse words edged with fright and rage. Mara gave a mental shrug. _That's what I get for marrying into a tribe of Immortal warlords,_ Mara thought. Abstractly, Mara noticed that Salem's voice, even edged with anger and fear, seemed very low and pleasant like Sonja's.

"What is it, Salem? What's happened?" Lucian demanded.

"Mom's goddamn pet project, that's what! Selene! She has fucked us royally!"

"How?"

"You need to get over here right now. She's woken him. She's woken Viktor."

xxxxx

_A/N: Dun Dun DUN! Things are starting to heat up! Almost at the end! Thanks to everyone who penned a review!_

_Happy Independence Day! God Bless America!_


	19. Divergence: XVI

XVI

_I don't own Underworld._

* * *

"What does this mean?" Mara asked after Salem hung up. The blood pouring from the bite had ebbed to a slow trickle. Cautious hope flared to life in Xavier despite the desperation in his sister's voice. Mara would live! Deep down, he felt relief, but also pride. Of course Mara was strong enough! No virus could topple her.

"We'll just have to move up our plans is all," Xavier murmured. Dad was already bustling about the apartment tossing clothes and weapons haphazardly into a duffle.

"I just got word from Kraven's people. Amelia and the other council members are dead! We must move quickly!" Lucian called. Xavier had his doubts about Kraven.

Xavier's hand tightened around Mara's. It was all happening so fast! A domino effect, the pieces placed so precisely—centuries of preparation—and now Fate had signaled the tiny touch to send them all crashing down. Amelia dead. Singe captured. Viktor awake. Selene hunting, always hunting. At least Raze and his sister and the Corvinus heir were alive. Mom . . . Mom was still, staring off into the mist of memory. Viktor. Her father. Six hundred years of war was at last coming to a head. It would end in the deaths of one or both of them.

"Sonja?" Mara whispered. Mom's head snapped toward Mara and she managed a weak smile.

"I'm all right." She waved off their concern with a fluttering motion.

"Sonja? Could you help me with the AK-47s?" Dad asked and Mom agreed with alacrity, no doubt grateful for the distraction.

"Move up our plans?" Mara repeated, blue eyes wide and guileless. Xavier nodded.

"We'll have to head to the Old World tonight to reinforce Salem and Raze. They can't do this on their own. Kahn, Selene and the Death Dealers will be out in force, you can count on that." He grinned, excitement tingling in his belly.

"You'll have to finish your change on the flight over."

**XXX**

Visions spiraled through his inner eye, a mishmash of violence and beauty. Central to them were two figures: a man with long brown hair and glittering blue eyes. Another, a woman—a vampire, who looked so much like Selene that his heart beat fast every time she appeared. God, smirched in blood or clean and glorious, she was one of the most beautiful creatures he'd ever seen. A warm voice reached out to him through the disorienting visions.

"You've been given an enzyme to stop the change. It may take some time for the grogginess to wear off."

A needle bit into his arm. He must have cried out, because the big man, the one dressed as a cop that had kidnapped and gagged him, slapped him hard across the face.

"That's enough!" The voice shouted, shooing the other man away.

Michael opened his eyes, the world sliding into focus. The enzyme—whatever it was—muted the fiercer emotions. The brutal surprise that would he would have felt upon seeing the same man he saw in his visions standing before him barely registered. In the visions, he saw the man in rags, with chains. Now, he was dressed in leather and denim, but his face was completely unchanged. Vampire? Or, like him . . . a Lycan?

"I really must apologize. He's in desperate need of a lesson in manners. Speaking of manners, where are mine? I'm Lucian." The man loosened the gag.

"I need to go. I need to get back," Michael slurred.

He wasn't sure what he needed to get back to. The hospital and his life as Dr. Michael Corvin, the American intern? No, that world was lost to him. As if to echo his thoughts, Lucian said, "There's no going back. The vampires will kill you on sight, just for being what you are. One of us. You _are_ one of us."

Michael watched from miles away as Lucian drew a vial of blood from his arm. Good aseptic technique, he noted, and finding a vein on the first try. This Lucian had some medical training.

"Your war has nothing to do with me."

"_My_ war?" a flicker of irritation danced across Lucian's face, "No, Michael. Not my war."

"It's Viktor's," a resonant female voice said from behind Lucian. Michael looked up blearily and saw the woman. Her name surfaced from the seething soup of his visions.

"Sonja," he whispered. She approached, the fluid, graceful dance of her step telling Michael she was every inch the vampire Selene was.

_Selene! Where are you?_ he thought.

Her cool fingers grazed his chest and arms as she loosened the restraints. Michael stared dumbly at the loose leather belts, drooping like limp snakes.

His eyes wandered up Sonja's lean, leather-clad form and fur-lined collar to her eyes, a brilliant hazel that seemed to suck him into a forest at twilight with its paradoxical promise of peace and danger. Her voice was clean and crisp, with the faintest serration of anger.

"Our story is a long and bloody one, Michael Corvin. You've seen the memories. It was forbidden, our union. Viktor feared a blending of the species. Feared it so much he would have killed us both and the child growing beneath my heart. This is _his_ war. And it ends tonight." Michael shivered. He believed her.

"What are you gonna do to Selene?" he asked, casting an imploring glance at Lucian.

"You must understand, Michael, we are here to protect you. Whatever Selene told you, she will not hesitate to put a bullet through your head for being one of us," Lucian said, blue eyes holding his.

No. That wasn't true. If she wanted to kill him, why did she kiss him? Why did she put him in a place where she thought he'd be safe?

The big guy from before appeared, flanked by half a dozen others, all carrying guns.

"We've got company."

_Selene!_

"I must go deal with Kraven," Lucian murmured. Sonja went to him and Michael watched as the glittering warrior-goddess softened. His heart clenched at the sight of the deep love between them.

"Let me go with you. Someone has to be there to watch your back," she protested. Lucian cupped her face, quieting her with a gentle kiss.

"I need you to stay with Michael. He cannot fall into their hands. Where are the children?"

"Salem is with Raze, and Xavier and Mara are guarding the exit shaft." Lucian kissed her again.

"I won't be long."

Lucian strode out, and Michael watched Sonja pace restlessly around the dingy laboratory. He tried, abortively, to rise or even move his arm, which dangled painfully hyper-extended, but the grogginess persisted. A crackle like popcorn in a microwave sounded somewhere behind him. Blearily, he realized it was gunfire. Sonja froze, a picture of deadly watchfulness.

"Damn. They're headed toward the exit shaft. I have to go." A flick of her hand parted the drape of her leather coat, revealing twin shoulder holsters, armed with gleaming pistols. She checked the barrel on one and shoved it into Michael's hands.

"Here. These are UV bullets. It will only take one to kill them, it doesn't matter where. Aim for the sternum." She braced a hand on his shoulder in a rough, but somehow comforting gesture.

"Steady Michael. I'll be back soon."

**XXX**

Mara clung to Xavier's arm, disoriented by the vividness of her senses, the unaccustomed strength in her muscles. The sound of gunfire rattled around in her skull with terrifying volume. She was fully Lycan now. Primal instincts warred with her naturally peaceful nature until she was an agitated mess. Xavier grinned at her, hair tied back and stripped to the waist, as he liked to be whenever he knew he had to change. Seeing the sinewy strength of him naked in the murky light was enough to distract her from the fear and uncertainty.

"You're doing great, babe. We can talk you through the change as soon as it settles a bit. I can't wait to see you in your fur."

He leaned in and kissed her. God, it was like kissing him for the first time! How had she never noticed that deep, wild note to his taste, that particular rasp of his beard against her fingers? The instinct morphed into wild desire, yearning for the claiming of her mate. She nipped his lower lip hard as she pulled away and he hummed in delight.

"Mmm. Sexy," he rasped. Mara moved toward him, but he grasped her shoulders gently.

"Much as I'd love to have my way with you, babe, we really should be on alert. It could get pretty hairy here in a min-" Xavier was interrupted by the Lycan called Pierce and half a dozen others.

"We gotta move, Xave!" he shouted over his shoulder as he began to climb. Dimly, Mara heard the faint click above, the cold stench of vampire.

"What was that?" she asked, peering up.

"_Grenade_! Get down!" Xavier shouted, yanking her against the stone wall and throwing his body over her as the world detonated into pain and light and screaming.

**XXX**

Soren's neck gave way under the savagery of Raze's jaws and Salem grinned in feral satisfaction. Soren had been the one to whip Father all those centuries ago. Revenge was sweet. Raze rose, thick and powerful in his wolf form. Thin gashes from Soren's whip trickled red here and there on the muscled terrain of his supple black skin. Salem touched them gently and licked the blood from her finger.

"Delicious," she purred, looking up to the crude, wolfish planes of his face.

A rolling growl that was almost a purr emanated from his massive chest. His taloned hand gently touched her cheek, another sweeping down her back. Claws as long as her pointer finger grazed her leather clothing and the sheaths of twin scimitars across her back. Fighting under the naked moon like this, Salem preferred to fight hand to hand.

"I know," she said, "I love you too." That purr turned to a snarl as his senses caught something. Salem swiveled in time to see the murky outline of Viktor himself and a quartet of Death Dealers flanked behind him rounding the corner.

_Viktor._

Fear tore her like shards of glass. The monster of her childhood nightmares. The living nightmare of her parents.

They remained unseen through a sheet of opaque plastic, but that wouldn't last long.

"Raze, go. Run!" Salem whispered. Her only thought was that Viktor was going to kill her. He could probably smell hybrid blood. Gallant, loyal Raze would try to protect her and would die himself. A world without Raze was incomprehensible.

"_Go_!" she hissed, shoving at his chest. Black lips peeled back to reveal his white fangs.

"Damn you," she spat, drawing her swords.

No time left to try and protect each other. A long and bloody fight lay ahead.

With a raw shout, she hurled herself through the curtain, landing directly in their path. Raze leapt through with a howl and easily killed two Death Dealers. Salem dispatched the other two before they even had time to lift their weapons. Their blood swirled vibrantly red through the murky water lapping at Salem's ankles. Raze returned, dripping blood and peppered with a spray of silver bullets in one shoulder.

Viktor was transfixed by the sight of her. She, likewise, wasted precious seconds studying him: her mother's father. Tall and unbending. Yes, she could see that the fruit of her mother's strength and determination found their root in him.

"I'm told I resemble you, Grandfather," Salem said coolly.

She knew he saw it in her as easily as she in him. It was in the blade-like cheekbones, the blond hair and vivid blue eyes. Viktor saw it too, a spasm passed over his face as he realized the implications of her existence. Salem was vaguely surprised his head didn't explode at the sheer _heresy_ of it.

"Kraven will pay for his treachery," he growled, head tilted back in an expression of hauteur, eyes narrowed to slits. With a jolt, Salem recognized the expression as one of her own. She mimicked him, deriving a vicious sense of satisfaction when she saw him flinch.

"I daresay he will. Sniveling cowards always find their comeuppance." A thin smile touched his lips. For one second, she saw a gleam of approval in Viktor's eyes, a primitive kinship. A fist clenched around her heart. It was a mistake making him smile. It would make it that much harder to kill him.

"Forgive my manners, Grandfather. I am Salem. And I'm sure you remember Raze," Salem said, waving her hand in introduction. Raze unleashed a vicious roar in reply. The name denoting kinship and warmth seemed to unnerve him. His long, white hands clenched into fists.

"I would have torn you out of your mother's belly and fed you in bloody chunks to William's spawn." A quick, curt gesture drew a broadsword.

"I know. But my mother and father were smart and strong enough to outwit you. I shall take great pleasure in cutting off your head for their sake. And mine," Salem tightened her grip on her weapons, rich red blood filling the air with its perfume, crimson drops dissipating in the water at her feet.

Raze broke the taut spell by lunging for Viktor's throat. Raze swiped at Viktor, slashing him across the chest.

_He bleeds, _Salem thought, seeing the thin trails of blood weeping from the four thin lines. Then Viktor seized Raze by the throat and Salem screamed as she heard the sick snap as Viktor crushed his trachea.

All else was lost in rage and blood as she lunged.

**XXX**

Sonja uttered a string of curse words as the dead bodies of the First Death Dealer Kahn and his lackey hit the ground. A handful of seconds too late. The bastards had already detonated a grenade. Her nerves sang as she felt Salem in danger. The world was bursting at the seams. She had to hurry!

"Xavier? Mara?" she shouted, jumping down the exit shaft. She landed in a puddle and observed the carnage of shattered bodies and rubble. Even a small charge would decimate a group in such close quarters. The smell of charred flesh and spilled blood wafted to her nose like incense. Pierce, Taylor, Nico, Russ . . . damn! She'd known and trusted each of them! No time to mourn the dead. The sight of her dead comrades filled her with a sick sense of dread. Sonja kicked aside a chuck of concrete, sifting through the carnage for her son and his wife.

"Xavier! Mara! Answer me, goddamn it!" fear made her voice shrill. She seized hunk of mangled rebar and hurled it aside. She waited in the dripping silence.

"Sonja! Over here!" Mara's voice was weak, but alive. Sonja waded over to the source and pried the space behind a pillar wider. Mara, smirched with soot and blood, looked up at her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Help him!" she screamed. Xavier lay limp across her lap. Burns and gashes marred his naked back.

"He was protecting me," Mara whimpered, tears cutting tracks in the filth. Sonja cocked her head, listening intently to the thud of his heart, strong and steady, the clean, clear flow of his breathing.

"Of course he was, sweetheart. Now look here, he's already healing." Sonja pointed, tracing the raised weal of a burn that was already fading. His hazel eyes popped open and looked quizzically between Sonja's face and his wife's.

"I must be in heaven to be surrounded by such beautiful angels," he said, his teeth white against the soot covering his face. Mara exhaled a sobbing breath, showering him with kisses. Sonja sighed and kissed her son's hair.

"Just like your father. You'd joke on your deathbed."

"Um, Immortal, Mom. I won't have a deathbed. And neither will Dad."

Sonja's answering laugh was cut off by dread, horror, _pain_.

In the centuries of their union, only once before had she felt anything similar. That hideous stretching of what connected them, about to snap—

And fear. Her soul went mad with fear for its mate.

"Lucian!" When he nearly drowned, she had felt struggle, the need for air. Now she saw his hand clenched to the hole in his chest, the veins in his hand bulging in rhythmic pulses. And Kraven's oily voice saying, _"Silver nitrate. Bet you weren't expecting _that_."_

Shot.

Betrayed.

_**Kraven! **_

Xavier called to her from miles away. It didn't matter now! Nothing mattered! Didn't he see?

_Lucian was dying!_

Kraven would die with him. Before she met the true death, she would spend her last hours drawing every second of her love's pain out on his murderer!

She didn't remember running, but in the next instant, she found her love limp against as wall, his veins stained black. She had seen Death too many times not to recognize the sweep of his brush. The sight stole her breath, her will, her powers of speech. His name emerged in a hoarse whisper: "Lucian!"

Sonja touched his face. His blue eyes opened—eloquent with pain and soft with love. He tried to speak, but her name emerged in a weak thread of sound. She placed a finger over his lips, stilling anymore painful effort of speech.

Three holes marred his chest, weeping silver fluid. By the Elders . . . silver nitrate. Liquid silver. Tears squeezed out of the corners of her eyes at the thought of the pain he now endured. _Oh my love . . . _

Her tender caress was torn to shreds by her fear and she grasped his shoulders, shook him hard enough to make his teeth rattle.

"Push it out, love. Try!" she urged, her voice raw. Sonja threaded her fingers with his as if to offer her strength. Lucian managed a weak jiggle of his head.

'No use,' He mouthed.

"Dad!" Xavier cried from behind her, Mara echoing him with a gasp of horror. Lucian's eyes rolled to them and a beatific smile graced his features. In it, she saw all of his love and pride and regret. Saying goodbye.

A shiver ran through Sonja, a wild clawing thing, inarticulate and powerful. Sanity was slipping away. Slipping away with the slowing beat of Lucian's heart. When it stopped, the world would cease to have meaning. Six centuries together. It wasn't enough! A thousand centuries wouldn't be enough! Call it greed, call it selfishness, but she _needed_ him!

_**No!**_ Every cell in her screamed in denial. Please. Not now. Please! Not now, when victory and peace were so close! She didn't know who or what she beseeched, but all that mattered was that Lucian _lived_!

Urged on by some formless impulse, Sonja gathered Lucian's tall, lean form in her arms. His mouth opened in a soundless cry of pain, blood reddened teeth bared and his breath misting as the silver stole his warmth. As much in reflex as comfort, she kissed his dry lips, tasting death. A ragged cry left her lips, and the ground flew beneath her feet.

She wouldn't let him go without a fight.

**XXX**

Mara stared dumbly at the spot where Sonja had once stood, the faint smear of blood where Lucian had lain. Both were gone. Lucian, pumped full of some evil liquid, Sonja wild with desperation. She had never seen her like that. Sonja wore the face of a stranger, hollowed out by the looming shadow of Death. Xavier tightened his arms around her and Mara was passionately grateful for his comfort, his living heat. A sob rose in his throat and her heart broke for him. He couldn't contemplate loosing them.

Then, Xavier stiffened.

"Let's go," Xavier whispered in her ear. Steely strength emanated from him. He was the son of Lucian and Sonja. He wouldn't snivel.

"Why? What's happening?" she said. This Underworld was dark and terrifying. Broken bodies and ungodly noises echoed through the underground fortress.

"Salem," was his soft reply.

Xavier wove his fingers with hers and led her along, outstripping even the swiftest sprinter. Mara, delighting in her new powers, relished the speed. They met only two Death Dealers on their way. Xavier snapped their necks with ease and Mara tried not to wince at the sight of him killing with such ease. He had been doing it for a very long time.

Together, they rounded a corner and found a woman, presumably Salem, hunched over the biggest man Mara had ever seen.

"Salem?" Xavier's voice was filled with worry. Mara stood by, awkwardly.

Salem was as astonishingly beautiful as her mother, even with blood smeared on her skin from healed wounds. Her blond hair hung in wet, snaking coils, vivid blue eyes wild. Mara glanced down at the man, heat staining her cheeks at his nakedness. Tall and thick with muscle; his blue-tinged eyes were open and fixed on Salem as his breaths emerged hoarse and hesitant.

"What happened?" Xavier demanded, "Are you all right, man?" He grasped the black man's hand. Raze, she remembered. His name was Raze.

"Fine," Raze wheezed, his voice impossibly deep.

"It was Viktor," Salem rasped, stroking Raze's brow with tender fingers, barely sparing her brother or Mara a glance. Salem loved him. That was obvious. A jolt of fear raced through Mara at the mention of _his_ name. The monster.

"He was here. I . . . taunted him with who I was. Raze defended me and the fucking _bastard_ almost ripped his throat out! So I attacked him. I got a couple good hits in," she said without conceit, "He pushed me under and would have drowned my ass." There was a second's pause, ripe with the recrimination of not coming to her defense.

"I'm so sorry Salem. It's Dad. Kraven pumped him full of silver nitrate. Mom's gone mental."

"Fuck," Salem muttered, "I'll kill him." By the savage light in her eyes, Mara could see she meant it. Raze heaved himself up to a seated position.

"We have to move," he said. Mara watched, fascinated, as the muscular column of his throat shivered and expanded with a hideous cracking sound. Just like that, the flesh and cartilage of his trachea was healed.

"Where did Viktor go?" Mara asked. Three pairs of eyes swiveled to her. One tenderly familiar, one curious, and one shrewdly speculative.

"So you're the famous Mara. I'm glad to see you've finally put my brother out of his misery," Salem's voice dropped to a slow drawl, her eyes slowly moving over Mara. Unsure of how to respond, Mara settled on a small smile.

"Since Mara's grasped the point, I can say I don't know," Salem addressed her brother, "When I came to, he was gone. And Raze and I were—inexplicably—still alive."

"We have to get to Michael," Xavier said. The four of them rose.

"Raze, Salem, you'd best take your fur. We need to be ready."

"What about you, Xave? You should change too." Xavier cut a nervous glance at Mara. She recognized his embarrassment and stifled the urge to laugh.

"I chose you, idiot," she chided, kissing the tip of his nose, "that means the fanged hybrid part of you too. Now change!" Salem's snapping blue eyes regarded Mara, then she laughed and punched Xavier's shoulder.

"I _like_ her. She doesn't take any of your shit."

Xavier and Raze shared a quiet chuckle and Mara recognized a desperate edge to their mirth. With Lucian and Sonja removed from the equation, this night's coup was now in jeopardy. Did they feel like kids, scared witless by the idea of surviving without their parents? Mara had, when Mom died.

"Let's just get on with it," Xavier muttered. They nodded and Mara watched, fascinated as muscle, bone and skin rippled and bulged to accommodate the dictates of their will. Their lines were thicker, fiercer, feral and devastatingly powerful.

The newly awakened Lycan part of herself felt a visceral kinship at the sight of them. She belonged here. She looked up, through the layers of concrete and steel and earth, as if she felt the moon's gentle touch on her skin, sinking into her bones, urging her to change as they did. It was as natural as breathing, to change. Easy. There was pain, a strange jolt of warmth, and her body began to change, rending her clothing into pieces. The scared human was gone! She was as powerful as they! Lucian's essence ran through her veins! A wild joy flooded her veins as she bounded after her mate.

**XXX**

The stink of gunsmoke permeated the air, curling like foul incense around Selene. Lycan blood added to the pungent reek of this dripping, seething den, but she ignored it. Calmly, with the grace of long practice, she discarded the empty clips and tamped new ones in, all in a matter of seconds. A trio of Kahn's Death Dealers ranged behind her.

Whatever Sonja was planning with her Lycan lover—fucking _Lucian_, the mutt that had started all this!—would end tonight at Viktor's hand. Michael would be safe. She'd see he was protected somehow, freed and forced into hiding. She had to get him out before Viktor saw him.

Through the fetor, a faint tang of Michael's scent wafted to her nose. She breathed deeper, assuring herself of the proper direction. Then she was off, leaving the bumbling idiots to seek the true death for themselves. She jogged easily down a hall, following the notes of salt and musk and blood that made up Michael's scent. She would recognize it anywhere.

_A vampiric bloodhound,_ she thought, and imagined the slight, sweet smile he would give her.

A rolling snarl caught her attention and with the honed instincts of a thousand lifetimes, she swiveled and shot, the bursts from her automatic pistols emerging in crisp bursts. The Lycan scaling the wall fell in a bloody heap. Another emerged from the woodwork, moving in the grotesquely graceful lope that ate unimaginable distance. Selene burst forward, thanking the stars for her superior speed. Her pistols spat another burst of ammo, killing it. A third Lycan leapt directly in front of her and Selene jumped, shooting the beast down as she spun over its head. She had to hurry. She was running out of clips.

Another furry bastard was nearing where Michael's scent was the strongest. Was this Sonja's lover or spawn she was killing? The thought floated through the data crunched in her mind. A second's hesitation before old instincts and hatred bore out. She fired, killing the beast, and not sparing Michael a glance, braced a foot on the monster and put three more silver bullets in its skull.

She was Selene, a Death Dealer. _Viktor's_ Death Dealer. Her loyalty was unshakable. Sonja's sneaking words wouldn't make her waver. Michael, rather than strapped to a Lycan torturer's table, was standing whole, radiating warmth. Selene tried not to notice the flicker of emotion in her heart at the sight of him. He was also armed. Selene squinted at the sleek pistol pointed awkwardly at the floor, the butt gleaming faintly with the UV florescence.

"Where'd you get that?" A bemused smile danced across Michael's pointed features as he held the gun gingerly.

"I know what started the war," he said. Selene shook her head, the fringe of her dark hair swaying.

"There's no time for that now. We have to go."

She grasped his arm and dragged him behind her. The battle was eddying around them in whirls of violence, with spatters of gunfire and savage roars. Together, they wiggled around them, unseen. Michael leapt for the exit door, throwing it open to find Kraven.

The world slowed.

She saw his gaze roam from Michael, reeking of Lycan, to her, hunched protectively behind him. Kraven's face twisted in jealousy, eyes livid blue. The gun lifted and he shot. Michael crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain as the silver nitrate seethed through his veins like acid. Selene sank next to him, a quivering, jagged emotion rending her soul to pieces.

Nononononono! Not Michael! Inane, barking words reached her ears. She ignored them. All that mattered was that Michael lived. Kraven's hand closed around her arm. She jerked free of his hard grasp.

"I hope I live long enough to see Viktor choke the life from you!" she shouted.

"I'll bet you do. Let me tell you something about your beloved dark father. _He's_ the one who killed your family, not the Lycans. Never could follow his own rules." Selene shook her head, denial crisp and easy. No. It couldn't be true. No. Not Viktor. Kraven continued.

"It was he who crept room to room, dispatching everyone close to your heart."

A fragment of a centuries-old memory rose in her mind's eye. Viktor, tall and strong and kind, stroking her hair. Another face rose like a ghost: Sonja and her nagging, cryptic words. _Lies. Betrayal._

Lies? Betrayal?

A feral pleasure lit Kraven's eyes, a dark joy in causing pain. His coarse voice rasped her ears like sandpaper.

"But when he got to you, he just couldn't bear the thought of draining you dry. You, who reminded him so much of his precious Sonja, the daughter he condemned to death."

_Sonja._

_I want you alive to see the truth__._

_I know what really happened to your family._

Breath left Selene's lungs. The shivering core of herself, hidden beneath her steely strength and hard-won determination recognized the truth staring her in the face. _Viktor_. The one who she had worshipped and adored for centuries. _Blind_. How could she have been so blind?

As Selene looked on, a slender black form leapt, tackling Kraven. He uttered a groan as brutal punches rained down, then lay limp as he wisely subsided into unconsciousness. The form atop Kraven shivered and shrank into the naked form of a young woman with a spill of golden hair. Viktor's blue eyes stared back at her. By the Elders, she was Sonja's daughter. Viktor's _granddaughter_.

Seeing her was the final blow to the altar she had built for Viktor in her heart. It all came crashing down in shards of hurt and anger and pain.

"What are you waiting for? Bite him!" the girl shouted. Selene looked down at Michael. Such beautiful blue eyes . . . gently, she bent and pressed her lips to his throat. The sweet savor of his blood filled her mouth as her fangs pierced his skin.

**XXX**

With three hybrids, including the newly turned Michael, Viktor did stand a chance. Xavier and Salem hung back, watching the Corvinus heir dance with the vampire Elder, feeling an absurd sense of pride at his accomplishments. So young and new in his powers, yet he kept pace with an experienced warrior. Michael threw Viktor into a wall. Xavier grinned. What he lacked in skill, he made up for in brute strength. As he fell in a crumple of fine leather, Xavier melted into his human form, letting Viktor see his father's face with his mother's eyes. His expression was priceless. Shock, horror, hate, and an unwilling fascination. All before Michael tackled him.

The battle would soon be over. Michael would end it for them. And Selene too, once she worked the last dregs of misplaced loyalty from her system. Xavier, who had been fighting this war for centuries too long, was relieved. Let them take up the fight that had been theirs for so long. He was too damn tired to go on any more. They had lost too much, too many comrades and friends.

"Kill the fucker, Corvin," Salem muttered, blue eyes watching the fight avidly. Mara and Raze were safe, guarding Kraven's unconscious body. Regardless of his own feelings, or Salem's, the kill belonged to Mom.

Speaking of which . . .

"We need to find Mom," he said. Dad was still holding on: they would have felt it if he'd died. His sister met his eye, and as always, they were in perfect accord.

"Where do you think she's gone?" Xavier smiled wanly.

"Hell if I know."

**XXX**

Sonja was dreadfully conscious of his hiccupping breaths, his once-strong hands fluttering and clutching weakly at her leather coat, the trickle of blood down her front. Wind whistled in her ears, the ground flew under her feet. Humans bustled about their busy, ignorant lives as the sky softened toward dawn. Sonja sped past them, headed for the stink of brine and towering metal structures of the dock. As old as she was, the sun would burn her to a crisp within seconds. This was a passing, transient thought as she ran. That didn't matter.

He did.

She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Lucian's.

"You don't get to die on me, love. I won't let you!" she whispered, kissing his cheek, nipping his ear.

Corvinus' human guards barely had time to swivel their weapons in her direction. One made the mistake of stepping into her path. Sonja kicked him square in the body-armored chest, landing with perfect balance on the ball of the other foot, watching him crumple against a stack of broken boxes. The iron doors of the _Sancta Helena_ met the same fate as Sonja found what she sought. Alexander Covinus was speaking in low voices with some of his human agents, when Sonja burst in. She gently laid Lucian on his desk, watched his blackened blood ruin the maps spread there.

"Save him!" she demanded. When those enigmatic eyes only stared, she drew her pistol and aimed for his heart.

"Save him," she repeated. It was Viktor's voice, cold, clipped and utterly merciless.

"That will be all gentlemen," Corvinus said coolly, dismissing the humans, "you may leave us." As they filed out, Corvinus shed his coat and rolled up the snowy linen of his sleeves.

"What happened to him?" his crisp voice held a healer's authority and the mad desperation within Sonja slackened just a bit.

"Silver nitrate. Kraven shot him. He can't . . . he can't push it out."

The words emerged in sharp bursts, eeking out from around the fist contracted around her heart. If Lucian died, that fist would crush her heart into pulp. Lucian was panting, short, tight bursts of breath, blue eyes locked with hers. Stars, she could _taste_ his agony! Sonja holstered her pistol and grasped his hand, wishing with all her might it was her on that table, not Lucian.

Not her beloved Lucian.

Her hands shook as she helped Corvinus peel away the layers of coat and shirt. A small sound escaped Sonja at the sight of the major vessels of his chest so clear, as if filled in with ink under his tawny skin. Viscous silver fluid seeped from the three gunshots in his chest. The weak keening turned to a moan and she bent and kissed the marks.

"Lucian . . . Lucian," she chanted. His hand fluttered as if to touch her hair, but he lacked the strength. Jagged anger and fear tore at her.

"Do something!" she shouted at Corvinus.

"Lift his head," he commanded, his quiet dignity absurdly comforting. Sonja buried her fingers in the rich fall of his hair, damp with clammy sweat, cradling the precious weight of his skull. Alexander Corvinus sliced his wrist and said with the tenderness of a parent to a child, "Drink."

Sonja watched, like magic, as the ugly black began to fade from Lucian. His heartbeat was stronger, his hands steadier. Passionate gratitude filled every corner of her heart, a wild joy exploding. He would live! Lucian would live!

"What's happening?" she asked, rapt and reverent before the Eldest of the Immortals. The healing sluiced through Lucian's lean body, the blackened vessels shivering and ebbing into glowing health.

"I am the first Immortal. My blood is unsullied by either the Vampire or Werewolf strains of the virus." The bullet holes closed.

"Think of me as the Immortal blood type O, the universal donor. Lucian's Lycan blood will accept mine. It will also augment his strength." The last discoloration faded from his body and Lucian lay replete, nearly glowing with health.

"Thank you," Lucian murmured, swinging his long legs over the side of the desk. Stars, the sight of him whole and healthy, color diffusing his lean cheeks, his strong arms reaching for her . . . how she treasured this man!

"_Lucian_!" Sonja cried, throwing herself at him.

They tangled together in a wild kiss of seeking and finding, a life-assuring clinch which neither wanted to break away from. The faint tang of Corvinus' blood lingered in Lucian's mouth and the flavor defied description.

It tasted like sunlight.

When at last they broke free for Lucian to breathe, a radiant smile broke on Sonja's features. Corvinus stood, nonchalantly watching his wrist heal.

"It was a good thing you brought him to me when you did. Any later and he would have been too far gone. I trust none of my human associates suffered the same treatment as my ship." Dry humor laced his tone and Sonja laughed, exultant. She seized him in a fierce embrace. It was worth the look of dumb surprise on his face.

"Thank you! Thank you so much! But, ah . . . one of them might be a little banged up. Surely nothing more than a bad bruise, with the body armor."

"Thank you for your assistance, Sir." Lucian said, offering his hand. Corvinus offered a knife-thin smile.

"Thank _you_, Lucian. My agents inform me that your forces performed splendidly. My descendant Michael Corvin was successfully changed hybrid, and Selene struck the killing blow against Viktor."

"Viktor is dead?" Sonja asked softly. Corvinus captured her gaze and a fierce empathy warmed those cold blue orbs.

"Yes, my dear. Along with his entire force of Death Dealers, the vampire Council, the Elder Amelia . . . and Markus. Your boy Xavier was responsible for that. There was a bit of confusion when Viktor killed the Lycan Singe. Some blood apparently trickled into Markus' sarcophagus. During the sweep through the complex, your Xavier was the one to kill the last vampire Elder." She and Lucian shared a glance.

It was finished. Resolved without them. She squeezed his hand, seeing the pride, relief and faint strains of regret at not being able to defend their children pass between their locked gazes. In one blood-soaked night, the entire world had changed. Six hundred years she and Lucian had planned and painstakingly prepared for this battle and in the end, they weren't even a part of it!

"I am sorry for your loss, Sir," Sonja said quietly. Markus, the oldest vampire. Apparently, his word had been false. His offspring would not die with him, as Viktor had feared.

"Thank you, my dear." Corvinus cupped Sonja's cheek, the callused pad of his fingertips grazing her skin. The intimacy of the gesture lacked all awkwardness. It was a moment of genuine camaraderie and shared, unspoken grief.

A thought occurred to her.

"What of Kraven?" bloodlust rose up, hot and deep and hungry. She would make him pay and pay for what he'd done! Corvinus frowned, and moved to peer at a report on the desk.

"He's apparently alive and in your children's custody." A dark smile touched Sonja's lips.

"He's mine."

"Sonja, my love, is that wise? What more can he do to us? Viktor is dead. The children are safe. Is there really a need for more bloodshed?" Sonja looked at her husband as if she had never seen him before.

"He tried to _kill_ you, Lucian. He would have _succeeded_, had Corvinus not saved you."

"I realize that," Lucian's voice was calm and measured. Argh, she hated that tone! That almost condescending, let's-calm-Sonja-down-before-she-hurts-someone tone. Lucian reached for her, grasping the back of her neck and holding her in place. His beloved face was so warm and earnest, she almost forgave him.

"The war is over, love. There is no need to kill him. He is nothing." The croon of his voice nearly undid her. Then she remembered the fear, the terrible sight of his destroyed body on the ground. He felt her tension and dropped a kiss on her lips. She relaxed into the tender persuasion of his lips, so blessedly alive. She was just so tired. So tired of the world trying to separate them. That fear of losing him would never die.

"I'm not asking you to forgive him. I'm just asking you to leave him alive. We can exile him, imprison him, whatever you wish." Sonja exhaled a heavy sigh. He was so much better than her. Purer. Stronger. More generous.

"I'm not promising anything," she grumbled. Rightly taking this grudging assent, Lucian rewarded her with another kiss and the blessed enfolding of his arms around her. After a moment, Corvinus broke in.

"I have a gift for you, Sonja," Corvinus murmured. Sonja lifted a brow.

"And what is that, Sir?" The eldest Immortal poised the knife over his wrist and offered her his blood.

Alexander Corvinus' blood was heady stuff. She and Lucian were a little drunk on it. That combined with end of the war and their ability to at last walk together without the constant threat of death or exposure resulted in them positively giggling like lovestruck teenagers. When they contacted Xavier and Salem to relay the news that they were all right, they reached new heights of joy.

Soon, a battered SUV squealed onto the dock, and they all piled out, Xavier, Salem, Mara, Raze and the half a dozen close friends that had survived. Sonja watched as the entire pack of them converged, so beautiful and shining and happy in the sunlight. Lucian's eyes were only for her, cool and sweet like pools of water. He offered his hand and Sonja gratefully threaded their fingers, feeling alive and whole. The line of shadow was clearly marked, and the sunlit yard beckoned. She glanced uncertainly behind her at Corvinus. At her age, it would only take seconds to burn . . .

Lucian smiled.

And Sonja felt the sun on her face for the very first time and knew true happiness.

xxxxxx

_A/N: And so we come to the end. Whew. I hope everyone liked reading this as much as I liked writing it! Love all the comments and reviews! _

_Thanks!_


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